


Hungry Ghosts

by Sam_da_Moosie, tikistitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also Cute and Fluffy, Crack, Hurt Castiel, M/M, actually a lot of angel wumpage, because it annoyed me, but it sure ended up that way, it didn't start out too cracky, misplaced pagan gods, plot kudzu, reworking season 10, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 74,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_da_Moosie/pseuds/Sam_da_Moosie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the boys take a routine case hunting down a hungry ghost for an old friend, they soon discover the mass of souls still stuck in the Veil has caused a cosmic disturbance which has unlocked a forbidden doorway in Hell and unleashed a mob of rather grumpy fallen archangels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude: Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this early on during Season 10, but there’s spoilers here and there through the end of that season, so beware. 
> 
> I originally started writing this because I was annoyed that the SPN writers got Kevin stuck in the Veil but then they never bothered dealing with how he and all those other souls managed to get out. I figured since the Winchesters routinely cause cosmic disasters that this would have some far-reaching consequences. We start out focusing on Kevin and Mama Tran because I adore these two characters. But as my stories tend to wander where they will, the focus soon opens up to a whole army of supporting characters, both drawn from the SPN universe and from my own troubled mind. Yes, there are OCs here. They don't romance the Winchesters, but they do stomp around and make a fuss and try on cute shoes, that sort of thing.
> 
> As we begin, Cas is still slowly dying from his borrowed grace. I’m not going to deal with the Mark of Cain, so we’ll just assume Dean has gotten rid of it somehow. Also, a lot of Cas wump in this one: he starts out sick, and then things get worse. Oh, and the Destiel bit takes a while to get started. I originally intended this to be my DCBB entry, but it just got too big and weird.
> 
> Also, no beta, so be aware of that if an occasional typo is going to make you batty. In addition, my endings tend to disappoint pretty much everybody, including me. But I think you'll have some fun along the way – I sure did.
> 
> Finally, since people always ask, yes, I've finished writing the story, but the later chapters need editing. It's going to be 9 chapters and about 70,000 words when it's done.

An old man awoke, cotton-mouthed, cheek mashed into the ratty living room throw rug.

He could never get as drunk as he wanted; as drunk as he needed. And lately, they had quit refilling his damn liquor cabinet.

Somewhere, an alarm was still sounding.

“Balls.”

He rubbed his eyes, but didn’t rise from the floor. No need. Instead, he glared across the rug at the one stray thread poking up. 

Just couldn’t get decent help these days. 

Where was his damned whiskey?

The thread. His head was pounding, his cheek was sore, and that fucking alarm wouldn’t shut the hell up. How long had it been bleating this time? Days? Weeks? What _was_ time up here?

He had tried banging on the walls. It did no good. 

He was just a useless, hung over old man.

And he wasn’t even a man any more. Not really.

Grunting, he reached on hand across the rug and yanked at the goddam thread. One annoyance he could deal with.

And then something weird happened: there was a sound, like a door opening up. A white light suddenly flooded his room.

The old man sat up, blinking at the glare. Where had that doorway come from? It was right there, in the middle of his living room.

The alarm sound was louder now, more distinct. He heaved himself to his feet, and then shuffled over, poking his head out the door. He rubbed his cheek where it was rough from sleeping on the rug. 

On the other side of the doorway was a long corridor. Not just long: freakishly, insanely long, like it stretched for miles and miles, out towards the horizon. It was all white, with white floors and white walls and a white ceiling, and then row upon row upon row of white doors. It was dizzying, all the white.

The alarm was louder here. Step by step, he ventured out into the hallway. There it was: some device that looked like a fuse box. 

He yanked it open. The alarm clanged. Yep, definitely the source of the hoot and holler.

The old man paused. He was not alone. There was another man, scowling at him, poking his head out of his own white door.

“Hey there!” said the old man. “You got some wire cutters on you maybe?”

The other man ducked back into his room. The old man wondered for a time if he had scared him away. But then he emerged with a pair of pliers. He approached the box, and after a moment, yanked at a couple of wires.

The alarm stopped.

Blessed silence.

“Well, good job there,” said the old man. He extended a hand. “Bobby Singer.”

“Roberto,” replied the man, in a thick Spanish accent. He took Bobby’s hand and shook. “Roberto Singer.”

“Well. Pleased to meet you. Pleased to meet _me_ I guess,” said Bobby. “Don’t suppose you got any whiskey?”

“Hey!” Bobby and his new friend turned. A man wearing a turban had poked his head out of his own white door. “I have whiskey, my friend. It is forbidden for me to drink it, although they have stocked my liquor cabinet.”

“Well, sounds like a plan,” said Bobby. Enjoying the silence, he and Roberto followed the turbaned man into the door marked, as were so many in that endless hallway, “Bobby Singer.”


	2. Festival of the Hungry Ghosts

Being dead was different.

“Burn another milkshake, OK? Please?”

A skeptical look passed Linda Tran's face. But nevertheless, she dug into the plastic shopping bag and extracted a few more pieces of brightly colored joss paper. She selected one shaped somewhat like a drink cup, and tossed it into an ash tray, and then lit a match. “I didn't think this would actually work.”

“Naw, they're great! Real ice cream!” said Kevin, who was suddenly holding a frosty shake in his ethereal hand. He poked at the straw a couple of times, put a finger over the end, and then pulled it out of the cup, letting the delicious liquid drip into his mouth. “Ahhh!”

“You used to drink milkshakes like that when you were little,” his mother commented.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I thought these were just old folk tales,” said Linda, regarding the thin trail of smoke winding from the ash tray. “Misogynist folk tales.”

Kevin was now sucking his chocolate shake down through the straw. “And can you put in some more money? The large denominations are good.”

Linda went back to the bag. “And what are you using all the money for, anyway?”

Kevin ceased guzzling the milkshake for a moment and leaned over close. “Mom, I have a confession. I'm a ghost world drug dealer.” His eyes went big, and he grinned.

Linda scowled and held up the Hell money. “I'm still not sure I should be doing this.”

“What's gonna happen? How much deader could I be?”

“Don't talk like that!”

“Sorry, Ma.” Regret. Regret and chocolate milkshakes. Regret went down smoother with a chocolate milkshake. Linda grimaced and concentrated for a moment on folding up the money, while Kevin hovered over her shoulder. “Look, I worry about you,” he finally told her.

“I'm fine,” she grumbled, in _that tone_ that made clear she was not at all fine.

Kevin poked his straw around the bottom of his shake glass. “You want to make sure I'm venerated? That I don't turn into a real hungry ghost? Because, I've seen those guys, and it's not pretty. But you have to get out of the house more. You know, find some friends, or maybe get me a way cool stepfather.”

“I get out,” Linda sighed. “I have the shop.”

“The bookstore? You hide in back all day!”

Linda glanced up. “I have this building.”

“And it's still half empty!” Kevin spread a spectral arm. “We moved to Chinatown so you could hang with your homies. But you barely leave your apartment! You need to, you know, go find a Joy Luck Club or whatever.”

“A Joy Luck Club?” She reached out a hand to whack her son on the back of head, realizing too late, of course, that was no longer possible. “And why are you still here, anyway? Still stuck in the Veil!”

Kevin shrugged and rolled his eyes. He really didn’t wanna go into this now. He had places to be!

“I have half a mind to call the Winchesters, see what the hell is going on,” muttered Linda.

OK. That was a no. A big one. “Mom! We've talked about this.” 

“It's just a phone call-”

“Mom!” Kevin was serious now. “Please! Stay away from Sam and Dean. Those guys are bad luck to everybody they cross. Look what happened to me.”

Linda bit her lip, and this _look_ crossed her face. Kevin wanted to _do_ something, he just wasn't sure what. They had never been a hugging type of family, but the whole lack of touching thing was annoying in a Pushing Daisies kind of way. 

Being dead was different. 

“I gotta go,” he said, watching the Hell money crisp to ashes. 

“You'll be back?”

“Later. And you'll go out? And do something with, you know, live people?”

“Yeah.”

Kevin was going to fizz out, but he paused. “And … stay away from anything named _Winchester_.”

Linda's mouth was contorted into a grimace. “Yeah.”

Kevin nodded, and then finally let himself dematerialize. He sighed with relief. Projecting yourself back into meatspace really took it out of you, no matter how many milkshake offerings you drank. 

Also, the stuff with his mom was awkward as hell. But he tried not to dwell on it. 

He had reappeared back in the Veil, in the middle of his downtown villa. Real estate prices in the Veil were out of sight these days. Getting his mom released from that Crowley asshole had done wonders for him. Now, don’t misunderstand, of course he was glad that his own mother wasn’t in a grimy demon prison cell any more – duh! But it also meant he now had a line on Hell money, not to mention Hell goods, like the sweet flatscreen that nearly blocked out one whole wall. He had to admit, back in life, in some ways he’d never had it so good. Seemed like he’d always been under the gun studying, fretting about his college admissions, and then deciphering those stupid tablets. He’d never gotten to just relax and enjoy being a young guy.

He flipped up the covers on his bed and dug under the mattress for his box of Hell money. He also kept the Viagra there. It was a little awkward getting it from his mom, but the stuff was worth its weight in gold here. A lot of old guys stumbling around the Veil. And, hey, at least he hadn’t asked Mom to burn him a girlfriend!

Pockets stuffed with bank notes, he made sure to shut and lock the heavy front door, fixing each of the seven heavy locks. Then he let his spirit drift towards the marketplace. It was so easy to find, if you knew the way. Just follow the pretty lights. Like walking into a Miyazaki movie, really. There were cluttered stalls and spirits of every kind wandering here. Some, like Kevin, remained in their human form; others, who didn't want to bother, appeared as flickering lights. And then there were the crazy spirits, like the giant grasshopper dude, or the guy with his head carried under his arm, or that oversized daikon. A daikon – seriously, what the hell?

Since spirits had been cut off from Heaven it had grown more crowded here, but the Veil marketplace had probably always looked this way, and probably always would. Who knew how long some of these shopkeepers had been here?

Kevin wandered around aimlessly for a while, just digging the spirits, smelling the various offerings cooking, watching the jugglers and buskers and other performers who would wander in. Sometimes there were fireworks overhead, all flashing colors and smell of sulfur. Or all of a sudden a parade would be passing, spirits dancing inside a paper dragon. 

After a while, he found himself drifting towards the newer section. He began to walk with more purpose now. The lines were cleaner here, and the spirits more modern. There were a couple guys in high tech armor, a cat warrior girl, a cartoon ghost undulating down the street. He felt the ground vibrating, and looked up to catch a glimpse of MechaGodzilla stomping past. 

Yes, this was the place.

He ducked around the corner. After a whispered negotiation, there was a rustling sound as spirit money in large denominations changed hands. 

Some moments later, Kevin stood bearing a crossbow, scanning the painted sky overhead. There it was, coming over the horizon, like a green banner floating in the wind. The magnificent creature descended, and Kevin climbed on board. Fabulous, translucent wings flapped and he ascended to the Heavens astride his dragon.

Being dead was different.

_It was fucking awesome._

 

“Good business today, huh?”

“Yep! The Festival is always good for marketing,” said Jenny Quan, who was currently musing over the spread of offerings on her tray. “I’ve done a lot of networking this week. I can’t believe it.” Jenny kept a market stall where she sold various odds and ends for friends and sometimes adjusted chakras. Even though Linda had no fucking clue what a chakra was or where hers might be located, the two women had struck up a sort of acquaintanceship. Not really a friendship. But she was there. And they talked. Wasn't this what Kevin had been nagging her about?

A crowd of people were now milling around the altar, clutching their shopping bags and eyeing the food. They all looked perfectly well fed, Linda thought, but there was no accounting for greed. Jenny seemed to decide the tray of food and other offerings was sufficient, and lit up her joss money.

Linda regarded the tray. Pomegranates. Jenny had several pomegranates set out. She wondered if Kevin liked them, or whether her son even had a chance to taste them during his short life?

Linda hadn't broached the whole “ghost son” subject with Jenny yet. They were friends, but not really friends.

The money turned to ash, and then the crowd around the altar surged forward, grabbing succulent fruits and bean cakes from the tray and stuffing it all into white, plastic bags. And then they were scurrying away, the tray empty but for crumbs.

“Wow. They took it all,” Linda observed, watching the back end of an especially broad-based old woman retreating into the crowd.

“Yeah. That's really good luck!” said Jenny approvingly. She smiled. Her smile was blinding. She had evidently recently bartered a trade of her chakra location services with a local dentist to get her teeth whitened at a great discount. But the teeth looked somehow off to Linda now: too much like bleached bones.

“They're launching the lanterns, you wanna go watch?” Jenny asked as Linda helped her throw a tarp over her market stall. Linda nodded. She'd never actually seen them do the lanterns, but it had looked pretty on the National Geographic channel. Jenny insisted that she wear a protective scarf if they were going to go walking at night during the Hungry Ghost Festival. Jenny was the superstitious type, the kind who always claimed she could sense “vibrations,” whatever the hell that meant. Linda was more than a little jealous. She wished she still thought a few symbols printed on fabric could stave off what's out there. But she wound the scarf around her neck anyway.

They walked down towards the canals. Ocean Park had originally been some eccentric millionaire’s idea of a beach resort, back at the turn of the last century. The canals had been dredged to drain the local swampland. The small city had been through many ups and downs over the years, including the throes of the Great Depression, and an improbable post-war oil boom, but recently it had become trendy for wealthy individuals to purchase canal-side property, knock down the quaint little bungalows that were located there, and erect whatever architectural nightmares the zoning laws would allow. They had just passed the house that Linda thought of as the stack of pancakes – evidently the death of the surly actor who had lived there had sparked some kind of inheritance battle amongst his various disenchanted relatives and hangers on, so the house was dark. 

Jenny linked her arm with Linda’s. They huddled together – though it was midsummer, a chill breeze was blowing up from the water. 

“You're quiet tonight, hon,” Jenny fussed.

“Yeah.” Linda nodded, her mouth firmed into the same pout she's shown Kevin. “I had a- I don't wanna say _argument_. I had a discussion. With my son.” She cringed. 

“Does he need a haircut? I had a wonderful barber who just left me his card. We might do an exchange for durian fruit, though I hate getting those things in. Real traditional, southeast Asian I guess.”

“Uh, no. Kevin thinks I need to get out more.”

Jenny gripped her arm. “Oh, Linda! If you want to meet somebody, I know the best astrologer! Really, she'll get you fixed right up.”

“I don't really … go in for that kind of stuff any more.” _Jenny_ , she thought, _you know too much, and too little._

A small crowd had gathered to watch as a number of people lit small, red paper lanterns and set them afloat across the canal. “When they burn down, it means the ghosts have returned to the netherworld,” said Jenny, as if she were reminding herself. 

“To Hell,” Linda quickly put in.

“Yes, of course. To Hell!” Jenny had dropped her arm, as she obviously spotted someone she knew in the crowd. It was no surprise: Jenny knew everyone. 

Linda stood silently by the canal. Her eyes registered the lanterns, but her gaze was drawn across the water, to the vacant lot where recently a small house had stood. The lot was now filled up with boards and beams: obviously it was next on the list to be transformed into some rich man’s fantasy. She wondered what this place had been like, a century past, when the electric cable cars still glided through town, and wealthy vacationers from Europe strode along the boardwalk where now gang signs were spray-painted.

Linda. Sam Winchester had advised her against keeping her first name, back when he’d given her the false identity papers, but she’d told him she was too old and stubborn to change. So Linda Tran became Linda Chen. It wasn’t much of a change, but they hoped it would be enough to keep demons off her trail.

And then the boys had asked her where she wanted to go, and she’d remembered seeing that picture in a book somewhere, of turn of the century men and woman striding up and down a sunny boardwalk.

A sudden breeze hit her, and she grabbed at her scarf, which was threatening to blow away.

“Do you see that?” said Jenny. Linda hadn’t heard her come back over. She followed where Linda was pointing. Nearly all of the lanterns had gone out by now, but one stubbornly sailed on in the middle of the canal, bobbing with the current. “That’s bad luck!”

“Good luck for the lantern though,” Linda commented, to a confused look from Jenny. 

“I wonder what happened? That’s weird.”

“Maybe the door to Hell swung shut in the breeze,” said Linda, who was twining the scarf back around her neck.

“Don’t say that!” Jenny’s eyes went wide, and her too-white teeth chattered. Linda suddenly had an evil notion to introduce Jenny to her ghost son. But she noticed the rest of the crowd was chattering as well. It was just a dumb lantern. These people needed to get a clue.

A gust of wind hit them again, and the two women stepped back. There were actual waves rippling in the canal now, like some great, dark beast was passing underneath.

“Maybe we should head back,” said Linda. They sky looked threatening.

“Why won’t it go out?” Jenny asked. She was right: the little lantern still glowed a soft, unearthly red, which spread over the rippling waters of the canal like a smear of blood.

“Jenny. We’re getting out of here.” A shiver crept down Linda’s spine. Now _she_ was getting vibrations! She pulled Jenny away from the water and along the path towards their homes. Maybe Jenny was going to protest, but that’s when the summer squall hit, and everyone, even the ones muttering at the lantern, began to run from the rainstorm.

They made for the boardwalk, and into the shelter of the covered walkways.

Linda paused at the corner. Jenny looked like a drowned rat. A drowned, confused rat. “You OK walking the last block?” Linda asked her. 

“I wonder why it didn’t go out?” Jenny asked.

“It’ll go out now. You text me when you get back home?”

Jenny, for once, was speechless, but she nodded obediently. Linda wrapped Jenny’s scarf back around her, like you would for a little kid, and shooed her off. And then, throwing her own scarf over her head like a hood, Linda bolted across the street and down the block to her apartment building.

Linda lived in a turn of the century place – turn of the last century, that is. Word was WC Fields had passed time there. Of course, they said that about half the old places in the neighborhood – it was a way to persuade you to put up with the bad plumbing. Linda shook off the worst of the water and then trudged upstairs to her apartment, wondering what the hell it was that had gotten her so darned rattled.

Outside, thunder crashed.

 

Some time later that night, Kevin Tran reappeared in his mother's apartment. He usually crashed at his own place in the Veil. Actually, there was no reason for him to crash _anywhere_ any more, he was a ghost. But something drew him here sometimes, so despite himself, he hovered over his mother's bedside.

He stayed and watched her for a time, curled up in the bedclothes. After a while, her steady breathing calmed him.

The game was all. The game was everything. He paid them well in blood money for that. But it was engaging, and sometimes....

Word on the street was that the monsters and apparitions were genuine Hell beasts. There was some kind of deal with a back door to Hell. It sounded like total bullshit. Come on, a back door to Hell? Did he look like he just died yesterday?

But that thing he'd seen in the game tonight – well, not really _seen_ , more like glimpsed out of the corner of his eye, up on that cliff. It was hard to explain, but it just didn't seem right. It didn't even seem to belong in the world. 

He was rattled. Kevin had to admit, he was rattled.

But you know, he was probably just concerned over his mom. She really did need to get out more. He noticed the damp scarf hanging up in the corner. Not really his mom's style, it stood out from the rest. Maybe from that batspit friend of hers? What was her name, Jean or something? But if she was getting his mom out, then maybe it was for the good?

Linda slept. She breathed, softly, in and out. 

And Kevin watched.

 

Linda yawned and rubbed an arm across the foggy bathroom mirror. She squinted into it, and then gave up and went to open the bathroom window a crack. 

The building was laid out so two bathrooms on each floor clustered around a narrow central courtyard. The space was literally so tight you could climb out of your bathroom window and step into your neighbor's apartment. Her neighbor across the way, who was a bit of a flake, had had her boyfriend do just that a couple of times, from Linda's apartment, when she'd locked herself out.

“Linda!”

It was too early for conversations, but Linda sighed and pushed her window open. Marybeth, the tenant across the way, was poking her head out, her makeup half done, blond hair tugged back with a scrunchie.

“Good morning, Marybeth.”

“Did you hear about the girl?”

“The girl?”

“She hasn't heard yet,” Marybeth told someone who was obviously also in the bathroom. Yuck. Probably the boyfriend, but still, yuck. Linda had rented to Marybeth on the understanding that she was single, but she was pretty sure the boy was living there too.

“What girl?' prodded Linda, because she might as well get this over with.

Now there were two faces at the window. Yep, it was the boyfriend. It was actually kind of cute: he was about a head taller than her. But Linda just wasn't in the mood. And so help her, if he was living there, she was bumping the rent.

“They found her body just a couple blocks away,” said Marybeth, the boyfriend nodding.

“Oh. Was she out for the Festival?”

“Looks like.” Cornflower blue eyes batted.

“I'm sorry.” It was a stupid thing to say, but she said it anyway.

“But did you hear about the body?” the boyfriend asked.

_Of course not, idiot,_ Linda didn't say. “No.”

He gestured towards his face. “Eyes. Totally burned out!”

“Ewwww!” said Marybeth.

“I- I need to get to work,” whispered Linda. She pushed the bathroom door shut, leaning against it, struggling to breathe.

 

“Smell that sea air, Sammy!”

Behind the wheel of the Impala, Sam side-eyed his brother. He needed to talk, but the worst way to get Dean to talk was trying to get Dean to talk. Now, Cas could get Dean to talk, which was annoying, but this was about Cas, which made it even _more_ annoying. 

Why the fuck did communicating with his brother always turn into kabuki theater?

“We gotta make sure we stay at a place with a pool!”

“Yeah.”

“Hey! Sammy! Wake up! What the fuck?”

Sam scowled. “We’re near. At least I think we’re near. It would be a lot easier if you let me us a damn GPS.”

“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” mumbled Dean. Dean wasn’t particularly irritated, which was also annoying as Hell. He unfolded the much-creased map and scanned it. “Yeah, looks like it’s just up ahead. We should look for parking. Find a spot where my baby won’t get a door ding.”

Sam tried not to roll his eyes – he really tried. You try and find parking for a whale of a car in a space that fit Dean's constraints! Besides, even if he did get a “door ding,” that would mean hours of fun buffing it out and repainting it, so what was the big deal?

They found the address, and managed to beach the Impala at an agreeable spot not too far away. Not that walking a couple blocks in the Southern California sunshine (and watching delicious blondes in bikinis go roller-skating by – it was like being in a movie) was any hardship at all. They reached the address fairly quickly.

“Is this a cat place?” asked Dean, pausing at the threshold of the large bookshop.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean cats, Sammy! The local vegan lesbian book shop. One of those places where they have cats sitting on the bookshelf.”

Sam shrugged his broad shoulders. “So take a Claritin or something.”

“I'm gonna be sniffling, dammit.” Dean glowered and pushed inside, Sam on his heels. They took in the place – yeah, there were cats. And a lot of books. Dean blustered some more, and then barged up to the front counter.

“We're looking for Linda Tran,” he said, breaking out a smile for the black-clad boho chick at the counter. She glanced at him over her vintage cat's eye glasses. “We're Sam and Dean Smith.”

“Yeah, she said to keep a lookout you.” She inclined her head towards a door marked “staff only.” “She's back in the office, having her lunch.”

Dean nodded, pried an orange tabby off his leg, and ambled over to the door. The door led to a darkened hallway. This annoyed the bejeesus out of Sam – he hated darkened hallways. And he hated it even more when he noticed he could see his brother's breath.

“Dean!” Sam hissed.

“On it,” whispered Dean, who pulled out a weapon. Sam did the same, and crept after Dean towards the door at the end of the darkened hallway. Using well-rehearsed moves, they surrounded the door, and then, on Dean's count, burst inside.

_“Shit!”_

“Oh,” said Dean. 

“Mom,” declared the rather enraged spirit of Kevin Tran. “What is the one thing I asked you not to do? The one thing?”

“Kevin, you don't understand-” Linda started.

“The one thing!” said Kevin's spirit, waving his hand at Sam and Dean. “These guys are bad news! They murder everything they touch!”

“Uh, hey, Kev?” said Dean hopefully.

Linda heaved a sigh. “Kevin, don't act like this in front of guests!”

But Kevin's image fizzled, and then, with a whiff of ozone, blinked out.

Dean sneezed. “Hey, Linda,” he said brightly but through a slightly stuffy nose.

Linda sighed as the Winchesters holstered their weapons. She dug in a desk drawer, fished out a box of Kleenex (with lotion) and handed it over to Dean. “I've got Claritin if you want.” Dean blew his nose and shook his head. The orange tabby cat from the front had wandered into the room, and was now twining itself around Dean's legs.

“Hey, Linda,” said Sam, taking a seat. 

“Thank you for coming. I apologize about my son.”

“Doe probleb,” said Dean, crinkling up the tissue and lofting it into a waste basket in a sweet three point shot. Linda handed over a tab of Claritin. Dean at first rolled his eyes and waved her off, but took it when she wouldn't quit pointing it at him. He glowered at the cat and downed a couple of pills.

“It's great here,” said Sam. “It was a nice drive.” _Oh, and we're sorry for getting your son killed,_ he didn't add. “Anyway, you wanna fill us in? You said you thought it was a ghost?”

“Like I told you, it's the Hungry Ghost festival this week. I had a weird feeling the other night. I'm not someone who gets scared easily, but we put out the lanterns, and one of 'em wouldn't go out.”

“Lanterns are souls going back where they belong, correct?” asked Sam. He hadn't researched it much, but he'd seen it on the Travel Channel. It looked pretty.

“One wouldn't go out. My friend – well, she's a little out there, she's always feeling spirit vibrations and that kind of bullshit. But she noticed it, and then there was this weird, sudden storm, and.... You're going to think I've gone nuts, but I swear I saw something in the canal water.”

Linda grew silent. It was a little weird seeing her thrown off balance like this. “And then there was a murder?” Sam urged.

She nodded. “Yeah. They found a body a few blocks away from here.”

“I saw gang graffiti on the way in,” Dean noted.

“This area has gentrified, but, yeah, we still have gangs sometimes. What I heard was that she had attended the Festival. And- And she was found with her eyes burned out.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a side glance.

Linda searched their faces. “I don't know, maybe I'm just going insane?”

“Linda,” said Dean, leaning forward, pulling his best charming/reassuring face. “Hey. On a list of insane people we know, you don't even make the top hundred.” She appeared somewhat mollified. “We’re gonna go find a place to crash, and then we’ll nose around.”

“You can stay with me.” 

The Winchesters both paused, caught off guard. “Hey, that’s great,” Sam told her, “but-“

“I have a lot of room. Really. I own a building a couple blocks from here. I have most of the top floor to myself.”

The brothers glanced at each other again, working out what to do. “Will, uh, will Kevin be cool with this?” Dean broached.

“He’ll be fine.” Linda had made her decision, and was fishing around in a desk drawer again. She drew out a key. “He was just … _surprised_. I didn’t mention you’d be visiting. But he’ll be fine.” 

 

Linda wasn't kidding about having space. The story was, she'd bought out this semi-decrepit (but clearly once magnificent) old mansion, in hopes of fixing it up and renting out the space she wasn't using to pay the mortgage. There didn't seem to be a lot of other tenants so far however – a cute chubby blond surfer girl and her gangly boyfriend, and a dark-eyed girl with a pair of humongous rottweilers. And then Linda had also bought the bookshop from a pair of owners who were retiring to Florida and mostly wanted someone who wouldn't evict their shop cats.

In other words, Linda now lived in a haunted mansion, and worked in a haunted book shop. Sam had to wonder what the unconscious motivations were, given that her son was now ectoplasm. But he hadn't had much time to ponder, as they'd thrown their bags into a big room, changed, and talked their way into the local police station, where a somewhat overworked cop had admitted there were no leads. And then on to the coroner's office for a look at the recently departed.

“Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

Dean was already loosening his tie. It was a warm, sunny day, and their suits were getting a little sticky. “You saw it, right?”

Sam paused outside a coffee shop. Iced coffee – that would hit the spot right now. “I saw.”

“And you know what did it?”

Sam looked in the window and regarded a poster of a four foot tall iced beverage beckoned. “Angel kill. I mean, most likely.”

“Yeah. And who do we know who'd be the expert on that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He won't answer my calls.”

“He's busy with, uh, angel stuff....”

“So he's answering _your_ calls?”

Sam's hand went, of its own accord, to tap the cell phone in his jacket pocket. “Look, I could try and send a text...” He tore his eyes off the image of the gigantic iced spiced vanilla latte. 

“Yeah, why don't you go text your best friend?”

“Sorry, Dean.” He really was sorry. They were quiet for a too long, too uncomfortable moment. Sam finally gestured towards the shop. “Look, I'm gonna go get-”

“It's OK, Sammy,” said Dean, more quietly now. He squeezed Sam's shoulder. “I'll meet you at the car.”

Biting his lip, Sam pushed into the cafe, though somehow now the frosty beverages didn't look so appetizing. He didn't like being in the middle like this. But he'd made a promise. He scanned the menu board as he approached the front of the line, his hand going up to tap his cell phone, his mind lost in wondering about life and fate.

He paused.

Dammit!

His cell phone was missing.

 

“You usually don't play at this time of day.”

Kevin glowered at the shopkeeper. He handed over a pile of Hell money, and a few tabs of Hell Viagra, just for good measure. “Just get me into the game.” The shopkeeper shrugged and took the cash. Even in the Veil, money talked.

And then he was standing in that other world, at the bottom of a very familiar cliff.

“God dammit, this wasn't my save spot!” Kevin exclaimed. He was going to run back and complain, and then he remembered he had forgotten to save. Because … well, yeah.

He stood back and regarded the sheer cliff. There were shining markings embedded in the arbitrarily smooth side, indicating that this was the path he needed to take. Kevin sighed and looking around, silently cursing the designers. He really should have been paying more attention.

Well, there was nothing to do but ascend again. Struggling to remember the path he'd taken up before, he felt for some hand holds and then began to climb. Let's see, one up, two across, and then another up....

He yelped as his hand slipped, and he went tumbling down, back to the start. Of course, he wasn't hurt – he was dead, duh! But it was frustrating, and became more and more frustrating as he tried again and again, scrambling up the cliff, getting further and further each time, only to mess up and end up on his ass down at the bottom.

“Who designed this bullshit!” he raved. Because, seriously, why did you have to make it arbitrarily difficult like this? It wasn't fun, it was just annoying. He had paid good Hell money for this! He wanted to ride dragons around and shoot monsters, not get stuck screwing around on a dumb mountain in a boring part of the game.

He paced around in circles for a time, trying to calm down. He was almost there, just inches from the top. He really just had to repeat the pattern, same as before, without making a mistake. And then remember to save the game this time! 

Steeling himself, he hopped back up on the cliff, and slipped right back down, because he didn't have a good grip. All right, deep breaths.

Once more, he heaved himself up, and began a slow and steady ascent. Up, over over, up and over, then up and over and down and up, here it goes, it was working this time. Up, up, over, over, this was going good, the top was in sight. Up here, towards where he'd spilled last time. All right, good, that place was slippery, avoid it. There was the top! Don't get excited, concentrate, concentrate, concentrate....

Heaving a heavy sigh, he hoisted himself to the top, and lingered there for a moment, grinning and looking down in triumph. Good! Wouldn't have to do that again. Now to get to the first save spot.

He turned around.

He didn't get far.

 

“I just can't find any similar incidents,” said Sam. 

They were sitting on Linda's sunny front porch. Sam was poring over his laptop, and drinking a beer.

Dean was drinking a beer.

“So this is something new?” Dean was wearing sunglasses, so Sam couldn't see his eyes, but they were probably shifting back and forth, checking out all the passersby. He had his feet propped up on the porch railing, and looked like he might want to stay a while. Maybe the rest of the summer? How long could his brother kick back and watch pretty girls? 

Sam looked up from the screen, squinting in the sunlight. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing to chill and watch pretty girls. He could get used to this. And besides the bikinis, there was a lot to enjoy. The parade of humanity walking and waddling and skating and biking by was pretty impressive, from muscle men to sunburned tourists to burnt out 60s relics....

Oh, and speaking of relics, here came some bum, shambling his way down the boardwalk. Well, probably not the worst place to be homeless. Still he didn't look like he was in very good shape.

“Dean.”

But Dean was already gone. The beer bottle was lying on the floor, slowly chugging out its remains onto Linda's porch, as Dean had upset it when he sprang over the railing to run out to the boardwalk.

Sam was hot on his heels.

“Cas!”

Dean was gripping the angel by the shoulders. Castiel, angel of the Lord, trembled and began to cough, his entire body spasming with the effort.

“Cas, what's going on?”

“Dean,” Cas managed to spit out between hacking and heaving breaths. There were blood flecks at the corner of his mouth, which he wiped with a trench coat sleeve. The coat, which had never fit him, now looked at least a size too big. But he could still manage a good, smiting glare. “What the hell is going on?”

And then his eyes found Sam. “Uh, hey, Cas.” Sam cringed at the accusing look in Cas's eyes.

“Sam.” There was so much accusation in that one syllable.

“Dean took my phone!”

“Oh, right, blame me,” muttered Dean, who still had an arm around Cas. Then the double take. “Wait, did you know about this?”

_Great going_ , Sam thought to himself. Now they were both mad at him. He hated getting caught in the middle! “Dean, Cas is sick and doesn't want you to know. I wanted you to know, but Cas made me promise not to tell you. So then Dean stole my cell phone and tricked you into coming, Cas. And, hey, welcome to my world!”

“You tricked me,” Cas rumbled to Dean.

“Oh, great, you wanna be all alone to cough up blood.”

“I am dying, Dean.”

“No you're not. Shut up.”

“What is going on?” All three men snapped to attention as Linda Tran appeared nearby. She marched up to Cas and placed a hand on his forehead. She clucked her tongue. “What are you doing out here? He's ill! Get him inside.”

“I'm not-” Cas began, but launched into a coughing fit. 

“Inside. Now,” Linda ordered Dean, in a tone that would bear no second-guessing. 

 

Castiel obediently took a spoonful of soup. It was quite tasty. He noticed flavor more, now that his powers had faded to embers. It was a small consolation, but he would take what he could get. The dominant flavor was chicken, but it was also rich in various herbs and spices.

He was currently sitting propped up on a fold out couch in a building whose layout indicated a construction at the beginning of the twentieth century. Sitting here the past hour had been a little like riding out a storm seated in the eye of a hurricane, which Cas had done more than once in his very long lifetime. Linda Tran had been quite insistent that he be treated as an invalid, and would brook no disagreement, even though Cas had tried to explain that he had managed to transport himself to California, and thus still possessed a certain minimal competence.

But no. Instead Sam had been dispatched to fetch Cas's luggage from his car and Dean kept running after various ingredients, finally bringing back a rather chatty woman named Jenny who had a stall at the local produce market. 

As a result, Cas had changed his apparel from his normal attire to the set of clothing he had begun using as pajamas (sweat pants and a T-shirt, such as he had observed the Winchesters wearing), and a remarkable piece of furniture that he had assumed was a couch was revealed to have a bed folded up inside it. Castiel was now sitting on the thin mattress, various bedclothes bunched around him, sampling the dish that Linda had created for him while Sam, Dean, Linda, Jenny, and a girl who apparently worked at Linda's bookshop and whose name Castiel had not yet gleaned - but who was dressed all in black, with her hair dyed black and fingernails also colored black, and who apparently did not smile, but who had brought over a recipe book – all crowded around him.

Jenny had directed a small subgroup of people into making a sticky substance which had been applied to Cas's chest. It necessitated him removing the T shirt, which he was reluctant to do in the presence of humans, especially female humans, but those present today seemed not to care, and though it smelled odd, it actually did feel warm and appeared to aid in Cas's breathing process.

“Why did you let him go like this?” Linda was demanding of Sam and Dean, who both appeared awfully cowed in her presence. “Did you know he was sick? Were you going to just leave him? That's no way to treat a friend!”

“It's a bad cold,” tutted Jenny, who felt Cas's forehead for the dozenth time and then fluffed his pillow.

“A cold?” asked Cas. “I shouldn't get colds.”

“Why, dear? Were you vaccinated? I knew those shots will get your chakras all out of balance!”

“It's not the flu vaccine, Jenny,” Linda told her.

“Those shots have mercury in them!” Jenny huffed. “Mercury!”

“That's a myth,” said Sam. 

“It's in the ingredients!” Jenny shot back.

“Thimerosal is not-”

But Sam was interrupted by the rather sudden, and rather literal appearance of the spirit of Kevin Tran.

“Mom!” said Kevin, who appeared, oddly enough, nonplussed by the crowd. “Uh, when I said you should meet people...”

“What is _that_?” shrieked Jenny, who was suddenly halfway up on the sofa bed, clinging to Castiel's arm.

“OK, this is awkward,” said Linda. “Jenny, you know I talk about my son, Kevin?”

“What?”

Cas sat down his soup on an end table so it wouldn't spill, and began to explain. “Kevin was unfortunately killed when Sam was possessed by an angel-”

“What?” This only seemed to upset Jenny further. “What angel?”

“You're, like, totally dead?” asked the girl from the book shop, who leaned over and poked at Kevin's apparition.

Kevin cringed. “Don't do that!” he scolded.

“I am an angel of the Lord,” Cas calmly told Jenny.

And then Jenny was off the sofa bed, and pressed back against the wall, rather freaked out expression on her face.

“Jenny, aren't you always telling me that angels are watching over?” asked Linda.

“Not on the sofa bed!” said Jenny.

Linda sighed and went to take her distressed friend by the arm. “Let's get some tea. Wendy, you coming?”

Wendy was still poking at Kevin. _“Wednesday_ ,” she responded. “My name is Wednesday.”

“Wendy, Wednesday, whatever. Come on. Now.” 

Wendy/Wednesday scowled at Kevin one last time and then followed Linda and a shaken Jenny out of the room. That left two humans, a ghost of a recently departed human, and an angel (who was probably soon to be departed).

“I gotta talk to you guys,” Kevin told Sam and Dean. “I thought I saw something. In the Veil.”

“Oh like dead people?” said Dean, rolling his eyes. “And, Cas, why the Hell hasn't the Heaven Patrol taking care of that shit? Why is this kid still here?”

“Dean, Cas is sick,” said Sam, who was now standing beside him, about where Jenny had been standing. As if he was trying to shield Cas from Dean. Cas noticed this now: Dean was angry with him. He hadn't seen it, what with all the people and activity. Anyway, this was not untypical: in their interactions, Cas usually managed to do something that upset Dean. Well, he wasn't going to have that problem much longer. 

“I'm sorry, Dean.” The apologies never did any good, but he prefaced his remarks with this anyway. “I'm afraid it isn't a simple problem. When Metatron closed Heaven's gateways and ejected the angels, it wasn't as simple as closing a doorway. There was a delicate ecology that was thrown out of balance.”

“So, balance it and let the souls back in!” said Dean. He was fuming. He was definitely upset about something, but Cas guessed it wasn't really the souls. 

“There is a balance,” said Cas. “Heaven and Hell.” He reached over behind the soup bowl on the end table and brought out a plastic toy. It was a paperweight with two transparent chambers, bisected by a small pink, plastic wheel. He tipped the toy upside down, and a blue liquid rushed up, seemingly out of nowhere, into the clear liquid on top. “If we opened up the gates to Heaven at this point, we would also create changes to the gates of Hell.”

“The gates of Hell,” grumbled Kevin. “Yeah, I remember that.” His spirit glared at Dean and seemed to fizzle for a moment. Cas smelled ozone in the air.

“In retrospect, it is perhaps fortunate that you didn't succeed, Sam.” Cas addressed his remarks to the younger Winchester, the only one in the room who didn't appear ready to blow his top. Why was he forever caught up in these situations, the angel wondered? As of 24 hours ago, he was set to die alone, in peace. But now he would live on, to upset humans – alive and dead – yet one more time.

“We would have screwed things up?” Sam asked him.

“Potentially.”

“But you don't know,” added Dean.

“I don't think anyone knows.”

“Haven't you been back up to douche-quarters?”

“Dean,” cautioned Sam.

Cas turned on Dean. “No. I have not been up to _douche_ -quarters, Dean. As it is not clear that I would survive the trip at this point, in my current weakened state.”

“You're dying.”

“Yes, Dean. I am dying.”

There it was. Dean took a step towards Cas, struggling for words. “And you were just gonna … I dunno, die all alone.”

“That was the plan, yes. Until Sam texted me with the news that you were in danger. Only it wasn't Sam, was it?” It was all clear now. And it was also clear that Sam knew what his brother had done, and did nothing about it. Why did they want him here? He only ever made things worse.

“You're not dying, Cas!” Dean told him.

“I'm dying, Dean. Maybe not today, but my powers are weakening by the day. I'm … almost human now.”

“We'll figure something out.”

“No deals.” 

“What? You wanna die?”

“I have accepted my fate.”

“Dammit, Cas! This is just like fucking Purgatory!”

“Dean!” But Dean had turned around and began to march out of the room. As he heard the door slam, Cas realized he was having trouble breathing, and launched into a coughing fit. He straightened up, realizing that Sam was on the bed, rubbing his back. 

“Hey, come on, soup,” the younger Winchester urged, holding the bowl his way. 

Cas paused, genuinely touched by the simple kindness of the gesture. He spooned up a few bits of the still warm, fragrant soup. It did seem to help with his breathing. “He gets like this. He'll be back,” Sam said quietly.

“I am sorry, Sam.” 

“Dean doesn't deal sometimes.”

“Emotional eight-year-old,” grumbled Kevin.

Sam looked up at Kevin with an inquisitive expression. “Kevin, you wanted to tell us about something you'd seen in the Veil?”

Kevin blinked nearer. One minute he was in the corner, the next, he appeared to be sitting cross-legged on the bed. Cas was impressed. It showed a great deal of control for a spirit entity. “Don't tell my mom, OK? I mean, not yet.”

“You want us to keep secrets?” Cas asked. This didn't sound like a good idea.

But Sam waved him off. “We won't tell Linda. Spill.”

“So, I've been gaming.”

“Wait, they have video games in the Veil?”

“Oh, man, it's even better! Total immersion. I'm burning up a lot of my mom's Hell money to get time, but it's epic. And … well, here's the thing.” He leaned in closer, and so did Sam and Cas. “The monsters? Rumor has it, they're actually demons from Hell.”

“What? Are you sure that's not just a rumor?”

“Sam,” said Cas softly, putting down his soup once again. “This is possible.”

“But that's not all! So, I got to this real frustrating part where I keep getting stuck. I think the designers are a couple of douchebags. Why would you even put in something that's arbitrarily frustrating? I mean, it just grinds away my game time. And it not even-”

“Kevin?” pressed Sam.

“Uh, yeah. Anyway,” rattled Kevin, “I get over the edge of this cliff, and there's something there that … shouldn't be there.”

Cas looked at Sam, who stared back. “A demon, Kevin?” Sam asked.

Kevin had abruptly grown quiet, no longer the eager soul talking about a game. Sam and Cas remained quiet as well. “It shouldn't.... It wasn't.... It wasn't something that should have been there.” Kevin seemed far away. He shook his head, and appeared to recover. “I've seen it a couple times now. And it always throws me out of the game.”

“So Hell shows up in the Veil, and we have an angel kill here,” said Sam.

Cas nodded. Sam had filled him in about it, of course. It was worrisome, but there was so little he could do, especially in his present, diminished state. His eyes drifted over to the little paperweight. It had nearly finished draining upwards, liquid settling into a resting state once again. He grabbed it off the table and flipped it over again, intrigued. “They have another door here.”

“What? Who?”

The blue liquid crawled upwards, ascending Heavenwards. “The angels. The last I had communicated with them, they had begun to set up other portals.”

“OK, wait, you just said that messing with that stuff was going to mess with ecology.”

“They're angels. It had been grievous to us that we can no longer use our wings. So an attempt was made to situate more portals.”

“They didn't wanna drive?”

Cas nodded, and a slight smile crept onto his features. “My kind can be stubborn, as you know. There is one situated not too far away from here.”

“A door? You know where?”

“Yes.”

“You feel up to taking a walk?”

“Yes.”

“Kevin,” Sam continued. “Could you go back to the Veil and nose around? Maybe talk to the guys who designed that game you're playing?”

“Crank and Knobs?”

“What?” asked both Sam and Cas.

Kevin looked between them. “Uh, that's what I've heard.” He shrugged. “I wasn't that interested. I just wanted to play.”

“Can you go look up Crank and Knobs and ask them how they Hell you're playing in … Hell?”

Kevin nodded, and then dissipated, leaving only a faint whiff of ozone. Cas wondered how long it would be until he joined Kevin, stuck in the Veil. Or perhaps his fate was not there. He shuddered, not wanting to dwell on the possibility.

“Hey, you OK?” Sam was pulling the bedcovers up around him. 

“I am well, Sam,” said Cas, who really wasn't used to this kind of behavior. 

Sam picked up the soup bowl yet again and handed it over. “Finish this. I'll talk to my brother. And then we'll go check that door to Heaven. Hey, team free will is on a mission again, right?” Sam smiled, and Cas found himself actually smiling back. Sam patted his shoulder and was out the door. Cas was left alone to finish his soup. Maybe, he pondered, he could do one last thing. Maybe it wouldn't make up for all the wrong he had done in this world, but maybe it would mean going into the next world with something small to ease his mind.

As no one was around, he set down the spoon, put the bowl to his lips, and drank deep.

 

Kevin had overturned his mattress and stuffed the entire contents into various pockets. Some time later, after much exchange of large denominations of Hell money, he was in an elevator of a rather mundane-looking office building, heading down towards the basement. He'd been led on a confusing runaround, and wasn't confident that he would get any further in his investigations. He found himself wishing he had Dean Winchester along, to maybe knock a couple of heads together. There was only so far bribery could get you, apparently.

He sighed as the elevator doors opened with a protesting shriek of the machinery. The basement was as nondescript as hell, and looked like it could use the services of a janitor. There was visible ductwork overhead, and a carpet that hadn't been cleaned since the Great Flood.

He proceeded down the dim hallway (due to crappy florescent lighting, about half of which was out or blinking and about to go out) to the one doorway marked Technical Services. It wasn't locked, and so he let himself in. He scowled as he scanned the room, annoyed. Nothing but a couple of cluttered desks and shelving with stacked up, dusty innards of various electronic devices. One shelf contained PEZ dispensers of every shape and size, including several wrought in odd, surreal colors.

He leaned back against one of the desks, and picked up a paperweight. Funny, it looked similar to the one Cas had been playing with: two compartments, separated by a little pink wheel. He turned it upside down, and some purple liquid began to leak upwards.

“Shhhh!” 

Kevin started. A dark-skinned man, carrying a tray with a tea service, had just come tip-toeing into the room. He set it down on the other desk and, crouching down behind it, waved at Kevin, finger pressed to his lips. 

“Shhh!” he repeated, gesturing for Kevin to come over. Kevin looked around, seeing nothing, but decided it was probably best to play along for now.

“What's going- What's going on?” he whispered, as the man grabbed a couple of cups off the tray and began to pour out tea.

“We're supposed to be having a visitor!” the tea man hissed. 

“Uh, yes?” asked Kevin.

“But it's all right, my partner will deal with them. Do you take cream and sugar?”

“Uhhh. Just plain is OK.”

So they hid behind the desk, drinking tea, Kevin wondering what the actual fuck. 

The door creaked open again, and this time, a ginger-haired man crept into the office, clutching an old boom box.

“Do you have it?” the tea man asked.

“I have it,” the ginger man answered.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Two sugars please.”

The tea man passed over a cup, and the ginger man, crouching behind his own desk, set down the boom box, plucking a cassette tape (did they still even make cassette tapes?) from his bottom desk drawer and inserted it into the boom box. “Listen to this,” he hissed as he sipped on his tea.

The boom box clicked on. _“We apologize, but Mr. Cruikshank and Mr. Watanabe are not in the office at the present time. Please try again every alternate Thursday. Thank you, and goodbye.”_

“What is that?” asked Kevin. Both men shushed him. “What is that?” he whispered.

“We're going to have a visitor,” explained the ginger man.

“And this will make them sod off!”

Kevin considered this for a moment. “Wait, how is that going to work?”

“They'll hear the recording, and then they'll sod off!” said the ginger man.

“Until the next Thursday,” corrected the tea man.

“Well, that's obvious.”

“But how is that going to work if you're really here?” asked Kevin, who really shouldn't have bothered, but somehow couldn't help himself.

“They'll hear the recording!” the ginger man repeated.

“And we'll be crouching behind our desks, so they won’t be able to see us!”

“We don't do interaction.”

“No, we made that obvious on our applications.”

“And we're going to get a visitor.”

“It's true, we've been warned!”

“Some bloke named Kevin.”

“I'm Kevin,” the same volunteered, placing his teacup firmly into its saucer.

Both men froze.

“He's the visitor?” the ginger man demanded of the tea man. “Did you let him in?”

“I didn't let him in!” protested the tea man. “He was here!”

“Didn't you suspect?”

“I offered him tea. It was only right!”

“Guys!” said Kevin, standing up and stretching his back.

_“Shhh!”_ chorused the men.

“I only want to ask one question, and then I'll leave!”

“We don't do interaction,” the ginger man sulked.

Kevin held out his hands in an imploring gesture. “I need to find the guys who designed the game.”

“Are you playing the game?” the tea man wondered. 

“Yeah.”

“He's playing the game, Crank!” effused the tea man.

“I heard him, Knobs!” sighed the ginger man. “I'm not deaf.”

“Wait!” said Kevin. “You're Crank and Knobs?”

“Knobs and Crank,” grumbled the tea man, narrowing his eyes.

The ginger man nodded. “Russell Cruikshank and Cicero Watanabe. Crank and Knobs.”

“Knobs and Crank.”

“You're playing the game?”

“I'm playing the game,” Kevin told them. 

“He's playing the game, Knobs!”

Kevin sighed and wondered where the hell the Winchesters were.

 

The Heaven’s gate, as it turned out, was located too far away from Linda's place to walk. It was probably just as well. Cas was weak – whether from the effects of the cold or his diminishing power, Sam couldn't really divine – and it seemed to calm Dean to take the car for a spin up the coast highway. 

They drove with the windows rolled down, enjoying the sunshine, blasting the music, smelling the salty air, the ocean a steady presence. 

Cas rode in the back, not napping, as Sam has predicted, but quiet, gazing out the window, his coat wrapped tightly around him.

_Team Free Will's last ride._ No, that was a little depressing, wasn't it? Sam shook off the thought and checked his cell phone. The signal was fading out here, but he still had just enough juice to track the coordinates Cas had given them. “The turn off should be coming up.”

Dean nodded, elbow resting on the windowsill, and darted his eyes up to the rear view, to check on Cas without looking too much like he was checking on Cas. Sam had caught up with Dean – he hadn't stormed off too far, just back to the porch and his now warm, flat beer. Sam hadn't actually tried to talk to him, because the worst way to get Dean to talk was, well, blah blah blah. Then after a silent standoff, Dean had agreed to drive. Had to keep “those angel douches” in their sights, after all.

 

Cas had an itch.

Itches confused him. He wanted to scratch it, but if you scratched it, it just made it itch more.

He was trying to ignore it. This seemed to make it itch worse as well.

And it was a little swollen. Which meant it rubbed more. Which made it itch more.

Cas didn't like being human.

He grimaced, and reached down to scratch his ankle.

 

“Cas? You OK buddy?” asked Dean when Cas's head ducked down beneath the seat. What was it now? Dammit!

Cas immediately popped up, scowl on his face. “I have apparently suffered an insect bite on my ankle.”

“Could be fleas,” said Sam, who went prowling in the glove compartment. “Linda has cats.”

“It is itching. But if I scratch it, it only itches more.”

Dean tried to control his breathing. He had been prepared to stop the car and administer CPR. Which would have been lame.

Sam dug around in the glove compartment and then lobbed a small object into the back seat. Cas caught it. “Benadryl. Just rub some on. Helps with the swelling too.”

Cas, in the rear view mirror, was putting his full angelic concentration on a small area at the bottom of his leg. “Yes. That feels better. Thank you, Sam.”

“Thank you, Nurse Samantha,” Dean told his brother.

“You're welcome, Dr. Sexy,” Sam shot back.

Cas looked between them, perplexed. 

Dean smiled.

“Here's the turnoff,” said Sam.

 

The California coast was funny, Sam thought. You'd get out of town a few miles, and suddenly, there was no one around. 

The coordinates Cas had given them led to a dirt path that wandered between some high dunes: the ocean wasn't visible from this point. They parked the car, and set off walking towards the setting sun. It had been a bright, clear day, but Sam could see the clouds starting to roll in.

They topped a dune, and now the ocean was in sight, rolling out, vast and unknowable, onto the horizon. You could hear the rumble of the undercurrent, and feel the pressure in your eardrums.

Dean was elbowing Sam. “Pretty impressive, huh?”

Cas had quickened his pace and gone on ahead. There was a small, neglected playground here. A weathered plastic slide, a jungle gym, a merry-go-round. One of the chains on the swing set had completely rusted through, and the swing hung down, limp. The other swung, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, squeaking in the breeze, almost as if a spectral child were playing. 

Sam shivered, and wished he's brought along an EMF meter. This place just plain felt haunted.

Cas had reached the playground, and was looking around. He appeared agitated.

“What is it with you angel dudes and playgrounds?” Dean called to him.

“Where are they?” asked Cas.

“Where are who?”

“This is a gateway. An entryway to Heaven. But there are no guards posted. And I cannot sense them anywhere in the area.”

“Uh, taking a smoke break?” Dean proposed. He and Sam had caught up with the angel, and Dean looked around, though there was nothing to see.

Sam put his hands over his ears. The pressure on his eardrums was giving him a headache. He thought about going back and grabbing an aspirin from the car. “You OK, Sammy?” Dean asked, placing a hand on his shoulder

“Getting a headache.”

“We'll probably get out of here soon. Nothing around. You sure this is the right place, Cas?” Dean gave Sam's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and then went over to spar with Cas.

“I am certain of it, Dean. I can sense the portal. But it appears to be closed.”

“You sure your mojo isn't going funky?”

“My mojo is not … _funky._ ”

And they were off. Sam started to wander away from them, towards the water. Of course, petty bickering was probably the only way Dean could show he was worried about Cas. In his weird Dean way. His brother got everything backwards like that. John hadn't exactly let him grow up to be a normal person. 

Sam pressed his temples with his fingers. The pressure was terrible! He wondered if he had a sinus infection. But it had come on so quickly, the throbbing. He felt a little faint. Maybe he really did need to get back to the car. Just to sit down. Or lie down. What the hell?

“Sammy!”

Dean's voice snapped him to attention. Sam looked around. When had he strayed so close to the water? The tide lapped. His shoes were all wet, and the bottom of his pantlegs were sopping. Dammit.

“Sammy!”

With some effort, Sam turned his gaze back onshore. Dean and Cas were running this way. Why were they doing that? Weird, it was like they were coming in slow motion. Yeah, of course, trying to run on sand. Sort of funny. His head throbbed. His neck ached.

“Sammy get away from the water!”

The water?

He thought to turn, then. Everything had gotten so dark. The water was there, dark water, around his ankles, swelling, so dark now, head throbbing.

A wave was coming.

No.

It was not a wave.

Sam lurched, turning away and finally, finally, finally starting into a stumbling run. It wasn't right. What was it? It wasn't _right_. He stumbled a few paces and then took a header into the sand, his stomach roiling, retching, vomiting out everything he'd eaten in the past 24 hours.

Shouting. He looked up. Dean. Dean was trying to kill it with an angel blade. No, Dean! You couldn't kill the sea with a puny blade like that. It was going to take him! No!

A cry.

Castiel had grabbed it. How did you hold a wave? He was holding the sea. He wasn't Cas, he was legion, he filled the sky, six terrible wings wrapping around the dark wave, and a blinding light-

Sam threw himself back down into the sand, holding hands over his head, cowering against the titanic battle. He saw stars. His ears thrummed. His eardrums were going to burst....

Silence.

Waves lapped.

_Dean!_

Sam picked his head up. He rolled over, weak, like a baby coming back from a fever. Everything was blurred. 

A figure, running. 

Dean. Dean was running. And calling. Running to something. Something: a dark pile of clothes left lying on the beach. A suit, a coat.

A trench coat.

Dean ran to it, pulled it into his lap, cradled it.

Sam became aware. There was a pattern, etched on the beach sand, dark and light, dark and light. A strange patchwork, like lace tatting on the beach.

He heaved himself to his feet, nearly toppling over. Dean down by the sea.

Sam stared at the pattern, dark on light, dark on light. It stretched up and down the beach. Centering on Dean. Dean and the dark object. Cas. Dean was cradling Cas.

Shadows.

Two dark wings, etched forever in the sand.


	3. To Hell in a Handbasket

Sam did what Dean told him to do.

When he said, help carry the body, Sam carried. When he said, drive, Sam drove. When he said, stop, Sam stopped. When Dean said, dig a hole, Sam dug.

And when Dean said, _he’ll need a body when we bring him back_ , Sam didn’t argue.

Linda didn’t question too much, which was good. When they asked Kevin to nose around the Veil, to find the soul, then he went and he looked. 

As for what _it_ was, the thing, the thing in the sea that was not the sea….

Sam sat at the kitchen table in Linda Tran's apartment, contemplating his lunch. He poked at his organic lettuce leaf salad topped with cruelty-free dressing and fair trade croutons and whatever the hell else. Something was bothering him, but he couldn’t form the words. 

“I looked around, Dean.”

“So look harder.”

Dean slammed the door and went stalking across the room, pursued by the ghost of Kevin Tran. Kevin wasn’t good at doing what Dean told him to do. In fact, he sucked. Part of Dean’s plan, such as it was, was to find Castiel’s immortal soul in the Veil. 

But Castiel’s immortal soul was not in the Veil. Or it _was_ there, but not easily located.

“Look, he was an angel,” said Kevin’s ghost.

“Yeah, Kevin, I seem to recall that.”

“Maybe he didn’t even have a soul. Maybe he just, you know, kind of blinked out.”

Dean pivoted, a picture of raw fury. Kevin, spectral or not, edged back. “He did not just blink out. He’s there. Find him.”

Ghost Kevin bit his ghost lip, and then was no more.

Sam prodded an organic heirloom tomato with his fork. “Dean-“

Dean was scratching the back of his neck, a picture of agitation. “Why is he like that? Is this too much to ask?”

The apartment's front door opened again, and this time a man Sam didn’t recognize ambled in. His features were South Asian, his dark hair matted into surfer dreads, and he was dressed in the typical beach chic of faded jams, equally faded Maui T-shirt and flip flops. In Ocean Park, he could have been anybody or everybody. 

“Dudes! I’m looking for the Winchesters.”

Sam and Dean both snapped to attention. Sam’s hand went to the gun tucked in his belt. 

“Yeah?” said Dean, his eyes flashing to Sam and then back to suss up the stranger. “You’ve found ‘em.”

“Cool! You’re Castiel’s bros?”

There was a rather pregnant pause. “What?”

The stranger's face was relaxed and genial. “Castiel the angel, dudes. He asked me to look you up whenever he shuffled off this mortal coil, so to speak.”

Sam was on full alert, standing just behind his elder brother, all his attention on the odd newcomer. “How- Why do you think that?” Dean managed to blurt out.

The stranger's hands floated into the Vitarka mudra, index fingers and thumbs forming a circle. “Dudes! I’ve been following his immortal soul in my meditations. He departed this plane of existence. So I thought I’d swing by. Whoa! Let’s be mellow, my excellent brothers.” The last was spoken after Dean grabbed him and held a demon knife to his throat and Sam pulled out his gun.

“You want mellow?” Dean growled. “You’re gonna tell us who you are!” 

“Oh, yeah! Sorry, I forgot the introductions. Physical plane of existence and all.” Sam thought the dude looked awfully relaxed for someone being threatened by two bigger guys who were both armed to the teeth. “My names are many and manifold. Gautama’s the one you might be hip to. Siddhartha Gautama.”

Sam found himself lowering his weapon. “Wait, you’re- Dean!”

“Yeah, I read that book.” Dean didn’t sound convinced, but he loosened his grip on the dude's throat. There was something in the guy’s manner. “And claim you know Cas?”

“Yeah bro. One righteous dude. He came to my meditation class,” said the Buddha cheerily. “Not often we get a seraph, you know what I mean? Alas, he did not find perfect enlightenment, but he proved most bodacious at throat singing!”

“Um, if you are who you say you are,” said Sam, “then what are you doing in Ocean Park?”

“What else? Surfing some choice waves, and teaching the Middle Way to those who would follow the path.”

Dean put away his knife and glared. “Well, Cas hasn’t shuffled off for long, Sid.”

The Bodhisattva smiled kindly at him. “He told me you would have trouble accepting his fate, Dean Winchester. He was worried about you, as you were his most excellent friend and bro.”

“I didn’t- How do you know I’m not Sam?”

“Dude. You are not Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, Michael’s Sword, Death’s Detective? In your short existence, you have acquired many names of much renown.”

Sam had to smile at this. 

Dean answered with a glare. “Cut it out, Sam. And like I said, we’re gonna get Cas back. We just have to find his soul. We’ve got a ghost working for us on the other side, but the kid’s a slacker.”

“If he had a soul,” Sam put in, and then immediately regretted it when he saw Dean’s expression.

“Bro had a soul!” said Sid cheerily. “A most excellent soul. It was manifold in its coloration and intensity, emitting a light like unto Heaven.”

Dean began to look thoughtful, which meant Sam had a bit of an _“Uh-oh”_ moment. “Wait, you could see his soul when you did your meditation trick?” Dean asked, his eyes narrowing. “What about now?”

“I would have to cast my enlightened consciousness upon a different plane of existence.”

“And...?”

His Holiness rubbed his tummy. “I might need some nutritional assistance. You got any Sriracha peas? For those are most bodacious of flavor!”

“Sammy! Enlightened snacks!”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I'll check if Linda’s friend Jenny is around.”

 

Dean Winchester was such a douche canoe.

Kevin stormed around the Veil, the other denizens doing their best to keep out of his way. 

His mom had gone against his advice, invited these two Winchester losers into their private business, and guess what? Terrible things had happened. Because, Winchesters. Like, duh! And now they’d gotten their douche-y angel pal killed too, and all hell had broken loose. Maybe literally!

Thirty-one flavors of awful. Sam and Dean.

Whatever they’d done to Cas, he sure as hell hadn’t ended up here in the Veil. Which was probably lucky for him! The Veil sucked balls.

Kevin was in the marketplace, hankering for some barbecue ribs, but his favorite vendor cringed back when she saw him approaching. She brought the metal grating down on her shop with a jarring smack, the spicy scent of ribs still hanging in the spectral air. 

Kevin realized his agitation must be showing in his manifestation. And, yeah, sure enough, the other spirits in the crowded marketplace were all keeping their distance, ducking out of his way, or dissolving into a shimmer, as spirits tended to do when they were emotional. 

Well, this wouldn’t do. He obviously needed to blow off some steam. He needed the game. It wasn’t his usual time of day yet, and he was still stuck at that same rotten save point by the cliff. On the other hand, he had managed to wheedle a couple cheat codes from Crank and Knobs by massively kissing their game-designing butts, so maybe he could skip through the annoying level? Maybe he’d get some first person shooter action, and then he could pretend everything in his path was a certain annoying hunter.

Trying to force himself to simmer down, he found his way over to the area with the gaming booth. A little later, after the exchange of a rather larger than necessary amount of Hell cash (Kevin wasn’t really in the mood for bargaining) and a few bottles of Viagra tossed in for good measure, he was back in the game. He found himself standing the middle of a quaint little wooded area, and even more annoyed than ever. The wind smelled of spring, the grass blew in the gentle breeze, and white, puffy clouds flitted over the impossibly blue sky overhead. 

“What is up with this pastoral shit?” he wailed. Seriously, this was probably the single worst environment for his present mood. Kevin wanted to blow something up, not listen to bubbly background music. He kicked the dirt, and then noticed that there was a picnic basket at his feet. He crouched down, hoping at least there would be some tasty barbeque ribs or maybe a nuclear bomb inside.

There was a bottle, but it wasn’t even cold. And some idiot had pasted a sticky note on it: “EAT ME.” 

Kevin mouthed a few choice words for the anonymous sticky-writer. And then he noticed a small, furry something waddling by, and quite abruptly his mood took a turn.

“No way! No fucking way!” he whispered.

He crept after it, along the path. It was tiny and fuzzy and doe-eyed, and a pale shade of blue. And it carried a teensy sack over its shoulder, which Kevin guessed contained acorns. 

“This is epic awesome! And also a pretty bad intellectual property infringement,” Kevin muttered to himself. 

_Snap!_ Oops, he’d just stepped on a branch.

The little creature was staring back at him, frozen in its adorable footsteps. Kevin immediately recognized the little chevrons on its breast.

Moving very slowly, Kevin crouched down to be nearer to its eye level. “Hey, little guy. I’m not gonna hurt you. Though I might ask for your autograph!”

The little creature stared at him.

And then took off like a shot.

“Totoro! Dammit, come back, dude!” Light at heart, feeling like he was a kid, Kevin took off after the adorable forest spirit, running through a field and then into a pathway through some bushes, pushing his way uphill, laughing and excited. He ignored the scratches of the branches and nettles as he stumbled along, the little bobbing blue cotton tail always just beyond his grasp. 

The branches suddenly opened up at the top of the hill, where stood a wondrous tree, big as anything Kevin had seen in his brief lifetime or afterwards. It stretched up, up, upwards, the broad canopy nearly filling the lustrous night sky.

It had gone from day to night here. There was a chill breeze. Kevin didn’t ask. This was just too cool.

And there went his little friend, now padding along amidst the roots, and suddenly darting into the darkness underneath. 

He’d seen this before, so he knew what was going to happen, yet he couldn’t stop himself. Kevin raced after, hopping up on a root, laughing, and then sliding – sliding – sliding downwards, falling and tumbling, inside the ancient tree, head over heels, giggling the whole way, light and free.

_Wump!_

He came to rest on the soft, feathery mat that had been laid out at the bottom. He rolled off and stepped back, giddy and excited and eager and…

It was dark. 

Breathing and movement. Something stirred. 

Kevin edged back. Why was it so damned dark down here?

He squinted. He stepped back another pace, but his back met a wall. The air was stuffy. Something was rising: something too large for the space. 

He checked his belt. Dammit, he hadn't brought a weapon along! What an idiot!

He cringed back. The creature reared up, giant dark-feathered wings spreading to fill the space. Kevin found himself staring at the bloodied face, two bruised eyes looking him up and down. 

Two blue eyes. 

“C- Cas?”

The angel opened his mouth. He tried to take a step forward, but his bruised, bloody ankle was bound by a rusty chain.

He mouthed single, desperate word.

_“Help.”_

 

Linda had the Bodhisattva sitting cross-legged on her kitchen counter, noshing on her Crazy Mix rice crackers and sipping a can of iced coffee. 

Just a few years ago, her biggest worries in life had been whether her kid needed a tutor to pass AP calculus, and how to get the neighbors to trim back their damned bougainvillea. Now, well, life took some strange turns. Jenny Quan had supplied some candles for the round of “awesome” meditation, and Wendy, the goth girl from the bookstore, had volunteered to grab some snacks from the grocery to feed His Holiness. Wendy was still hanging around for some reason, despite Linda’s heavy hints that it was about time for her to get back to her shift at the store. 

But the meditation apparently hadn't gone as planned. 

Linda still wasn't certain what had happened back on that beach, except that three had gone out, and only two had returned. The angel, Castiel, had been feeling ill, but the boys had dragged him out regardless. Perhaps her son had been right, and Winchesters were signifiers for bad luck? But Linda wasn't certain that she believed in bad luck. Or any kind of luck at all, for that matter.

“What do you mean, he wasn't there?” Dean Winchester demanded of the man he persisted in calling “Sid.”

“Like I said, Dean dude, the seraph failed to ascend unto a higher spiritual plane. A most bogus happenstance!” He dug his holy hand into the bag of snack crackers and dug out another mouthful. 

“You couldn't find him. Kevin couldn't find him. What the hell?”

“Bro, you heard the story of the dude who tried to cram a whole camel through the eye of needle?” said Sid, miming the gesture of threading a needle.

“Uh, wasn't that Jesus's story?” asked Sam.

“Yeah, Jesus the Naz. He's my dude!” declared Sid.

“How exactly does this apply here?” asked Sam.

“Well, it doesn't. But Jesus was one awesome dude!”

Dean's featured achieved a murderous expression.

Sid hopped off the counter. “But you've heard the story about the little dude who's out looking for his cell phone?”

“This is a zen koan?” asked Sam.

Sid wandered over to stand by Dean, gesturing enthusiastically with his can of iced coffee. “Little dude is standing in the light looking around, and another dude rolls up. He's all, 'Little dude, what's happening?' And little dude says, 'Dude! I lost my cell phone!' So both dudes look for a while, and they're standing under the light, and the rain is like coming down, and dudes are getting wet.”

“Your point?” barked Dean. 

“Big dude asks, 'Little dude, where did you lose your cell phone?' And little dude points.” Sid gestured wide, a spurt of canned coffee spraying out of the can. “'Over there, dude!' And the big dude asks, 'But why are you looking over here?'”

“There's better light over here,” said Wendy, who was still sitting at the kitchen table, sipping some of Linda's favorite imported tea.

Dean huffed. “I've heard that one.” Linda had hopped up and grabbed some paper towels. Sid cheerily plucked them from her and, whistling, wiped the spilled coffee from her floor. 

“Dean!” Sam Winchester had suddenly come to life.

“Yeah? What? The enlightened one is hogging the kitchen, eating our snacks.”

“Cas is out there. We're just not looking in the right place!”

“Where the fuck else would he be if he's not in the Veil?” And then the lightbulb clicked on, and his expression changed.

“Guys!” Everyone in the room was staring at the ghost of Kevin Tran, suddenly manifested sort of halfway through the kitchen table, right in the middle of Wendy's tea.

“Like, ew!” offered Wendy.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” said Kevin, staring at the teacup that was now visible through his midsection. He moved away, to a more appropriate spot, while Wendy picked up her teacup, giving it a beady eye.

“What is it Kevin?” asked Sam.

“Cas!”

And that was all it took to get Dean's full attention. “What? What about Cas? You found him? He's in the Veil right? See, I told you!”

“He's.... Kind of.” Kevin noticed his mother, and grew silent.

“He's in the game,” said Sam. 

“What game?” asked Linda. Her blood ran cold. She looked at Sam, who quite suddenly could not meet her eyes. “What game?” she repeated, now staring at the soul of her son. “Kevin?”

“Mom, the Hell money?”

“The Hell money.”

Kevin's image flickered. Then he flinched and looked around. It was Sid. Sid had his hand on Kevin's shoulder. Not in the vicinity of Kevin's shoulder, actually on it, gripping it. Kevin gasped, and his expression broke Linda's heart, just a little bit. “I've been using the Hell money to play this game, back in the Veil. It's really cool. But it's weird. And I've started seeing.... I've started seeing stuff that shouldn't be there. I didn't want you to worry, mom, but I told Sam and Dean.”

“Dean!” said Sam.

Dean wasn't there any more. When had he ducked out? Footsteps thrummed down the staircase, and a door slammed.

“Dean! Dammit!” yelled Sam, who was already running to give chase. “Dammit dammit dammit.”

“Mom?” said Kevin.

“Go,” Linda told him, and Kevin blinked out.

“Much activity,” mused Sid, who smiled reassuringly at Linda. He made his way out the open door, but turned in the direction opposite the one Sam and Dean had taken. Instead, he ambled down the hall to the second floor balcony, which was open to the alley below. Then, as Linda watched, he calmly hopped over the bannister and and fell towards the alley. 

She went rushing after him, skidding down the hall, arriving just in time to see him standing up on the hood of Dean's car, yelling, “Parkour!”

Dean, who had been driving by down the alleyway, obviously trying to get away, had his head stuck out the half-opened door, yelling, “Dude! My car!”

“Dammit, Dean!” yelled Sam, who had just arrived downstairs, panting, out of breath. “Dammit!”

“You're not leaving without us!” said Kevin, whose ghostly image was now standing in front of the car. 

“Yeah, you can't leave us, Dean!” yelled Wendy, who was now standing at Linda's side on the balcony, waving down. 

Sid hopped off the hood of the Impala. “I would urge you to heed the most excellent comments of your besties, little dude,” he told Dean, peering up at him (as Dean Winchester was significantly taller than the Bodhisattva). 

“He's in Hell,” said Dean. “Cas has gone to Hell. We need to find him. We need to get him out of there!”

“We'll figure it out, Dean,” said Sam.

“Hey, I may know some dudes. Or, actually, they're _ladies_!” said Sid.

“Dudes who are ladies?” asked Dean.

“In Vegas, baby!” Sid added.

“Money,” sighed Dean.

“Mom.” Linda glanced over. Kevin’s spirit was back up on the balcony with them. “I'm sorry. I didn't want you to get worried, you know?”

“You're playing some sort of … game in the Veil? With real demons from Hell?”

Kevin searched her eyes. “We- We should talk, I guess.” He glanced over at Wendy, who was still lingering nearby.

“Uh,” Wendy said, finally getting it. “I guess I should get back to the bookstore?” Linda raised an eyebrow, but Wendy was stalling, twining a lock of black hair around her black-laquered fingernails. “Uh, Kevin, you were like, brave and stuff.” She glanced shyly at Kevin through layers of black mascara, and then turned and slumped off.

Oh. Well, that added a layer of weird frosting to the crazy cake that was Linda’s life.

 

Dean was doing a thing, and that was good. 

Unfortunately, that meant Sam hadn't asked too many questions before they took off, so eager was he to get his brother caught up in a task. If Cas was truly trapped in Hell, Sam knew there was nothing on Chuck’s green earth that would or could prevent his brother from attempting a rescue. That meant it was time for Sam to step up and make sure he at least chose a path that promised some hope of Dean surviving the journey. 

“So, these friends of yours in Vegas...” Sam asked over his shoulder, where a Buddha and the immortal spirit of a prophet of the Lord sat in the back seat of their Chevy Impala. Linda had entrusted Sam with Mr. Tran’s ring, so Kevin’s spirit would be able to accompany them.

“They are not simply the most bodacious of ladies, but goddesses.”

Sam gritted his teeth and tried to remember whether or not they had a fresh supply of pointed stakes in the trunk. “You mean, literally, goddesses?”

“In both literal and figurative senses, my most excellent brother.”

Dean's eyes flicked up to the rear view mirror now. “But I thought you were some kind of god or something?”

“I am only a manifestation of the human aspiration to comprehend its own elusive divine nature.”

Great non-answer answer. And it didn't say shit about the whole “lived for hundreds of years” thing, but, OK, whatever. “Is this the right way?” Sam asked. When Sid had mentioned Las Vegas, visions of blinking neon signs, baccarat tables and one-armed bandits had flitted through his head. But instead they had taken an exit just before the city limits and had ended up driving the Impala through an array of suburban housing developments on the outskirts of the city, in a world of manicured lawns, soccer moms in SUVs and tacky McMansions.

“Yeah, right up ahead!” said Sid, who leaned forward and pointed over the bench seat. Dean pulled the car over to where an immaculately coiffed woman was just wheeling a recycling bin to the curb. She had dark hair and dark eyes, and looked to be Arabic. Sid was out of the car and bounding over to her before Dean had even applied the parking break, hollering, “Nef!”

“Sid! Darling! So good to see you!” said the dark-haired woman. “Icey!” she bellowed as she was giving him a hug. “Hey, look who's here!”

A chubby, grim-faced woman – a smaller, rounder, frowzier version of Nef – appeared in the doorway, wrapping her bathrobe around her middle. “Quit hollering, Nef. I'm not deaf.”

“The Enlightened One is here! And look, he brought his little friends.” 

Sam looked around nervously. The chick with the recycle bin looked friendly, but the one by the house was staring daggers. And both of them were giving off a vibe like they were not quite human. 

“These are my most excellent bros, Sam and Dean Winchester, and their recently departed compadre, Kevin Tran, Advanced Placement!” Sid smiled beatifically and indicated the lady beside him. “This is the most excellent goddess of death, Nephthys. And her bodacious sister, Isis, goddess of life,” he added, waving at the scowling woman in the doorway.

“Please, come on in!” Nephthys urged. Sam was pretty sure Isis was giving them a dirty look before she turned and shuffled back in, but Dean was marching up the walk towards the door with Nephthys, so he figured he'd better accompany his brother. 

They were ushered inside by the death goddess and treated to a grand tour of what was quite honestly a glorious house. There were some stunning views of the desert and mountain ranges beyond, and large, sunny rooms, all tastefully decorated in an Egyptian theme. It was like something you'd see at a magazine you thumbed through at the dentist's office. 

Isis, who had disappeared during the tour, finally popped back as they returned to the kitchen. She was now dressed in flowing, hippie type robes, and wearing a huge, floppy hat. She was bent over the oven.

“Queen Isis, my lady of life, what's been happening with you?” asked Sid.

“Life,” sighed Isis. “Don’t talk to me about life.” She opened the oven door and brought out a tray of fragrant hors d'oeuvres and carefully spread them over a platter that was placed in the middle of the attractive butcher block centerpiece to the kitchen. Nephthys danced around to grab little plates and party napkins. 

“Uh, so how do you guys know each other?” Sam asked as Isis grabbed a few paper cutouts that looked like images of food and placed them in an ashtray. She set them afire, and Kevin, who had been following along quietly, suddenly had a plate of food in his ghostly hands.

“We attended Brother Siddhartha's meditation class!” Nephthys enthused. 

“You ladies were my star pupils. You are most attuned to the universe.”

“Why did you bring them, Sid?” asked Isis, who was picking at her plate, a look of existential despair on her chubby features.

“My bros, Sam and Dean, have reason to contact the netherworld.”

“Ewww!” said Nephthys, wrinkling her nose. “You don't want to contact the Veil, do you? It's gotten so icky and overcrowded.”

“Hey. I live in the Veil,” grumbled Kevin, who was gorging on ghost hors d'oeuvres.

“No offense,” Nephthys noted, but her face remained sour. 

Dean was just sitting and staring at the tasty treats on his plate. Which was a pretty bad sign. Sam ventured a comment. “We think our friend Cas is in-“ But he stopped when Dean flinched. “I mean, there's evidence.... What we want is….”

“I saw Cas in Hell,” blurted Kevin. 

At which point, Dean stood up, leaving his food untouched on the plate, and silently walked out of the room.

“I thought you were dwelling in the Veil, Kevin?” asked Nephthys.

“It's complicated,” Sam admitted. As his brother was still AWOL, he attempted to summarize the latest weirdness in which they had found themselves enmeshed: a vague threat that seemed connected to the hungry ghost festival. The disappearance of the Heaven's gate. And the horrible presence that had shown up on the beach, stalking Sam, nearly killing Dean, and Cas....

Sam halted. Isis was standing next to him, her hand on his shoulder, chubby face concerned. Nephthys reached over and handed him a color-coordinated tissue. Was he crying? He grabbed the Kleenex and dabbed at his eyes, grateful for once that Dean had fled the room.

“You saw him?” Isis asked Kevin. “But not in the Veil?”

“So, I had been looking everywhere in the Veil,” said Kevin.

“Angel dude's soul has not ascended to a higher realm,” said Sid.

“I wouldn't call the Veil _higher_ ,” snarked Nephthys.

“But there's this game I've been playing in the Veil. I finally met the creators, and they're- They're kind of eccentric. Anyway, the thing about the game is that they use demons.”

“And how are demons up in the Veil?” said Isis.

“They're there, but they're not?” said Kevin, who, from his tone, seemed to recognize the lameness of his answer. “I don't really understand how it's done technically. I guess nowadays there are temporary doorways that open up between the Veil and Hell?”

“What?” declared Nephthys, smoothing her ruffled apron. “Well! That's not a very cute way to run an underworld!”

“We are not of these times, my sister,” said Isis, straightening her floppy hat. “And this is where you beheld your angel?”

“Anyway, these two guys, Crank and Knobs, have figured out how to predict when and where the next doorway will pop open. They’ve programmed the game so you’re standing nearby, near enough to interact with the demon. And that’s not all: they’ve told me the doors are opening more frequently, and for a longer time.”

“And this is how you viewed your angel?” asked Isis.

“I didn’t just see him. I crashed right into him!”

“How- How did he look?” asked Dean, who was now standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Impressive! He had wings, man.” Kevin held his arms out in, one supposes, an imitation of wings. He thought about it. “I fell down and landed in his wings. Amazing! But-”

“But what?”

Kevin flickered. Sam wondered for a while if he was going to fade out completely. “He looked a little- A little beat up? And…. And I think he was calling for help. But, then the door closed I guess, and I was booted out of the game.”

Dean banged the doorframe with the back of his fist. “He's an angel in Hell, man. They're gonna- We gotta get him out. Please?”

Isis and Nephthys stared at each other across the kitchen counter. Some kind of silent agreement seemed to be made between them. Nephthys slid off her stool and opened up an ochre-tinged kitchen cabinet.

“We have the power to send one, and one only,” Isis explained. 

Sam and Dean now glanced at one another. “Dean, I could-”

“Gotta be me, Sammy. You know that.” Dean turned to Isis. “You'll get me into Hell?”

“No. We have no dominion there.” 

Her sister was bringing out an armload of candles and herbs and a bowl. “Not under the present management,” Nephthys grumbled.

“We can deliver you to the Veil.”

“All right.” Dean nodded. “I can work with that. Kevin, can you get me into this game?”

“With enough Hell money and Viagra, dude, yeah, you can do anything in the Veil.”

“Viagra?” said Sam.

“There will be strict limits on your time there,” Isis told him, her chubby mouth grim. “My sister will put you there, and I must bring you back.” She tugged out a necklace she was wearing underneath her robes. “You’ll need to take my sigil with you. At the appointed time, I will conjure you back to the earthly plane.”

“Should be no problem!” said Dean.

Sam sighed, wondering if his brother had suddenly forgotten basically everything that had ever happened to him in his whole life.

 

“Linda!”

Linda peered into her fogged up bathroom mirror and frowned.

At first, she'd gotten used to being alone here, rattling around a too-big apartment building. And then Kevin had begun appearing – sure, he was looking for Hell cash, but his presence was a comfort. And then the Winchesters, and their angel too. 

And now all of them, all of them....

“What is it, Marybeth?” she asked, pushing her window open. Marybeth was there, and so was the boyfriend. The boyfriend's name was Eduardo, though Marybeth (and most everybody) called him Eddie. Linda had learned this somehow.

“Is the basement flooded?” asked Marybeth, as Eddie pointed his long arm downwards.

“The basement?” Linda muttered, thinking about plumbers. She looked down to the courtyard below. It was underwater. Several feet of water. “That's not a basement flood.”

“It's not? But, it's water.”

There was a knocking at the door. “It’s too much water, Marybeth. Look, you both stay inside for now, OK? I’m not sure what this is, but it looks bad.” Linda grabbed her bathrobe and ran for the door.

It was Wendy, holding the big fluffy white bookstore cat in her arms, the yellow bookstore tabby on her shoulder, now looking curiously at Linda. “I, like, saved the cats. I mean, instead of the books.”

“Come in,” said Linda, who walked past Wendy to the end of the hallway. She went out on the balcony and looked over.

Water was surging up the alleyway. “What’s going on? Did someone break a water main?”

“It’s coming from the beach,” Wendy told her. “It’s like, you know, the tide?”

“Up here?” asked Linda. “A tsunami? I hadn’t heard about an earthquake.” 

“Should we go back and get, like, the books?”

“Not a good idea. You stay put here for now.” Linda went back into her apartment, Wendy padding after her, and flipped on the TV, grateful that at least the cable appeared to be working for once. She flipped over to the least annoying 24 hour news channel and came in on the middle of an interview with a bearded individual.

_“-antarctic meltdown has been going at a higher rate than you predicted?”_

_“This is a higher rate than any of our models!”_ declared the professorial type with the listening doohickey stuck in his ear. _“It’s catastrophic! If this continues at the rate we have been observing, several of the world’s major cities will be underwater, not by the end of the century, or the end of the decade, but the end of the year!”_

_“Now, I wouldn’t jump the gun and get all excited here,”_ came a voice from a portly man sitting in the studio. 

_“Yes, Senator?”_ said the host.

_“We got all these scientists here with their graphs and their figures, with their hands in our pockets looking for research dollars-“_

_“Senator, with all due respect,”_ retorted the scientist, _“does your state even have a coastline?”_

_“Now, no, we are not so favored, professor-“_

_“Because you just might, by the end of the year!”_

Linda zapped the volume and grabbed her cellphone.

“Who are you calling?” asked Wendy.

 

Despite being a grizzled veteran of these kinds of escapades, Dean Winchester was not comfortable with the whole deal of staring at his own lifeless body. But there he was, lying on the bed, sightless eyes staring up at nothing.

_“Ascend and descend; descend with Nephthys, sink into darkness with the Night-bark. Ascend and descend; ascend with Isis, rise with the Day-bark,”_ chanted Nephthys, and her sigil necklace glowed with power. 

And Dean was even less comfortable seeing the distressed countenance of his little brother. No matter how old Sam got, he’d still be the six-year-old with teary eyes over a bee sting. “It’s all right, Sammy. I’ll be back,” Dean said, even though Sam, gathered around the bed along with Isis and Nephthys and Sid, was currently oblivious to it all.

“He’s here,” Kevin's ghost told Sam. “Dean's here beside me. He’s good.”

Well, not “good.” He was going to Hell. If he was lucky!

“Well of course he’s there,” sniffed Isis. “My sister is queen of the underworld.”

Sam puffed out his cheeks in relief. “All right, great.”

“Tell him not to forget my amulet!” Isis nagged, holding up the still glowing necklace. Kevin grabbed it from her, as Dean didn't really have the ghost mojo to do that kind of thing. 

“It'll be cool, Sammy,” Dean said. “Don't worry.”

But just then, Sam's phone rang, and he pulled it out to answer it.

“Let's go, I'm fading,” Kevin muttered, grabbing Dean by the arm. Dean held his breath, or would have, had he not been kind of dead, and they swooped out of Isis and Nepthys's guest bedroom and into another world.

They ended up outside a really tacky office building. “Ugh. You sure we're not already in Hell?” Dean asked Kevin.

“Before we get to the game, we're going to talk to the dudes who designed it. And they're going to annoy you, so please don't kill them or whatever,” Kevin pleaded.

“They're already dead!” Seriously, dead Kevin needed to get the stick out of his ass. 

“You want the amulet?” Kevin handed over the weird sigil thing the goddess chicks had given them. 

“You hold onto it for now. I don’t want it slamming in my face when things get hot and heavy.”

“Things are gonna get hot and heavy?” asked Kevin, but Dean was already marching into the dingy office building, and then into an irritating elevator where the buttons didn't work (you had to call the floor on a touchpad, which was seriously the stupidest arrangement for elevators ever). They got off on the dark, dank basement level, which reminded Dean of that weird Terry Gilliam movie with ducts everywhere. 

“What do these people do that they need an office building, anyway?” asked Dean as they walked along a dim corridor.

“What does anyone do in the afterlife? I think these guys are bankers.”

“Is this where you keep all that money your mom gives you?”

“Ah, hell no!” said Kevin. “I keep it under the bed.”

“Smart kid,” said Dean. 

“I was Advanced Placement,” muttered Kevin, who yanked open the door to a cluttered office containing the spirits of two rather frazzled gentlemen.

“We don't interact with persons!” said a ginger-haired man, who was holding up a stapler in a threatening manner. Not a staple gun, just a stapler. Was he kidding?

“I don't think these are persons,” said a dark-skinned man, who was holding a teddy bear-shaped ceramic teapot with a Union Jack painted over its belly.

“Come on! You guys got all this office crap and can't even build a rubber band gun?” Dean sighed, grabbing the stapler and slamming it down on a desk, causing the ginger man to cringe and the dark-skinned man to shrug and sip his tea.

“Dean, this is Russell Cruikshank and Cicero Watanabe. Crank and Knobs.” 

“Knobs and Crank,” said Knobs irritably, blowing on his tea. “Would you care for tea?”

“They designed the game I've been playing.”

“What's a rubber band gun?” asked Crank.

Dean sat on Crank's desk and opened a drawer, helping himself to some paperclips and rubber bands. “I need to get into Hell. I've heard you're the guys to talk to.”

Knobs was pouring tea from the teddy bear pot into little china cups. “Why would you want to go there? I've heard the tea is tepid at best.”

“I need to get a friend out.”

Knobs tutted. “Your friend might be better off in Hell. The Veil is so terribly overcrowded these days.”

“It would be so awfully much better without all the people and things,” his partner agreed.

Dean sincerely tried not to fume. “Look, guys, I just need to find one of those doorways into Hell. Kevin here says you use them in that video game.” 

“They're not so much of a proper doors as … what do the American call it?”

“A storm door?”

“Screen door?” asked Dean, who was bending paperclips.

“Yes. It's quite possible that reality is being deformed due to the overcrowded conditions here.”

“That's possible. Yes. Or … someone could have just left the back door open.”

“Well, who would do that? That would be idiotic! Oh!” Knobs let out a cry as Dean – who had evidently completed slapping together a rubber band gun - launched a paperclip into his tea. Knobs fished it out with a teaspoon and stared at it.

“That's actually quite clever,” said Crank. “What a bang up job!”

“OK, so when does the next door open?” asked Dean.

“You are in luck,” Knobs told him. “In fact, the next doorway to Hell is supposed to open, well, just about tea time!”

“Really? Where? I just need directions?”

“Well, nowhere,” said Crank. “ And everywhere. And around.”

“Dean,” said Kevin. “We said no killing!” 

Dean paused. He had dropped the rubber band gun and now had Crank (or maybe it was Knobs, he wasn’t listening so clearly) by the collar and was at the beginning stages of a good throttling.

“You're already dead,” muttered Dean, unhanding Crank (or Knobs) and stepping back. “Guys, I’ve got to find my friend. He’s an angel.” He took a deep (though not terribly calming) breath. To keep his hands busy (and away from neck scruffs) he grabbed his rubber band gun again. “He got taken away. To Hell. I’m just trying to get in to find him. He’s an angel in Hell: things could be pretty bad for him. And every minute counts.” He punctuated his plea with a paperclip launched across the office by his rubber band gun, which managed to behead a PEZ dispenser that was set against one dusty shelf.

“Wicked!” breathed Knobs. “We have heard your plea, and because you are the manufacturer of the world's most smashing rubbed band gun, we shall accompany you today!”

“We shall?” grumbled Crank, rubbing his neck and giving Dean the side-eye.

“Yes, although we shall need to equip ourselves with slightly more than a rubber band gun,” Knobs continued. “This doorway is predicted to be the most capacious yet, and so we shall face a dire foe.”

“What will we need? Exactly?” asked Dean. “Atom bombs or something?” 

Knobs hit a button on one of the shelves. With a creak and whirring sound, the entire wall swung out to reveal a racks upon racks upon racks of various and sundry weaponry. It was like the trunk of the Impala, only played out over infinity. Dean felt he was near to Heaven. 

“I'm not certain we have atomic weaponry,” mused Knobs. “We have missile launchers.” He pulled one down, toting it over a bony shoulder.

Dean grabbed it from him. “Fuckin A! How did you get this?”

“Why do you think they have us down in the basement, mate?” grumbled Crank.

 

Sam sat staring at the wall-sized flatscreen television. 

Goddesses sat beside him, both intrigued. And an enlightened being, currently manifesting as a surfer dude, sat nearby, engaged in solemn meditation. 

The excellent goddess Nepthys had brought out a little plate of bread and cheese, as well as chardonnay.

“Yeah, I'm watching CNN, Linda,” Sam said into the laptop that was open on one knee. “Are you guys still OK there? Well, sit tight, all right?”

Linda, in the Skype window on the laptop screen, frowned as a fuzzy cat hopped up on the keyboard and nosed at the screen. “I've got him,” said the goth bookstore clerk who'd been hanging around – Wendy or Wednesday or something. 

“Kitty,” said Isis, leaning over. “Oh, Bastet would love you, dear!” she told the cat. “You are royalty!” And then she leaned over further, her nose nearly on the screen, one hand on Sam's thigh. Sam cringed, but didn't move. “And what is that, dear?”

Linda looked over her shoulder, but then turned back towards the screen. “I'm sorry?”

“The scarf hanging up over there.”

Linda left and came back holding up a wrinkled scarf. She held it up towards her computer's camera. “Something from my friend, Jenny. She's a little eccentric.”

Sam searched his memories. Jenny Quan was the one who'd gotten them all the organic snacks for the Buddha.

The goddess Isis pulled out some reading glasses. To Sam's relief, she released her grip on his leg. “Could you hold it closer. Might I see the pattern?” 

“Hey, is that Enochian?” asked Sam.

“It appears to be Enochian warding. But the symbols are quite ancient. Something I've not seen in recent times.”

“It's protection against angels?” asked Sam.

“Funny,” said Linda over the Skype chat. “Jenny insisted I wear it during the Hungry Ghosts Festival. It was supposed to be good luck against any wandering spirits.”

“But you were really protected … against angels?” Sam’s thoughts drifted back to that awful day at the beach. The thing in the water - could it have been an angel? He tried to push aside his horror, and the terrible sight of Cas's lifeless body, and tried to put some form to the monster, but the more he concentrated, the more elusive it became, like some half-recalled dream. 

“Dudes! I feel a disturbance in the Force!” 

Sam snapped out of his reverie and turned his attention to Sid, who had been sitting alongside one of the sisters' shrines, deep in meditation. Suddenly, he sprung over the back of the couch and pointed to the TV screen. “That's no moon!” he said, tapping his finger on the bit of Antarctica the TV news guy was droning on about. “Nephthys, dude, quit being compulsive and cogitate, my excellent goddess.”

Nephthys was wrinkling her nose and spritzing a bottle of cleaner on the TV screen where Sid had just left a fingerprint. She paused, raising an irritated eyebrow at him, and then contemplated the map for a while. “How rude! That's a portal to the netherworld.”

“Wait, it is?” said Sam. “Heaven or Hell?”

Nephthys crossed two Playtex living glove-clad arms and frowned. “Isis?” she asked. Her sister passed over the reading glasses, and Nephthys squinted at the screen for a moment. 

She took a breath. “Well, it's not Heaven.”

 

“So, this is that video game you've been spending all your mom's money on?”

Kevin wriggled around on the mat, avoiding Dean's eyes. They were all seated around a low table out on the deck overhanging a ridiculously picturesque still lake. The cherry blossoms were in bloom. Gorgeous women in elaborate kimono shuffled out on quiet feet and poured them tea in delicate little porcelain cups.

“Anime influence,” said Knobs.

“Quite trendy,” agreed Crank, who was slurping his tea. “Needs sugar.”

“You're an ape,” Knobs told him.

Dean was growing restless. “Is there any reason why we're in an anime influence instead of out kicking demon butt? I thought you said the portal was opening?”

There was a thump. It was a hollow boom, like something rather big had fallen down. Kevin glanced over at his tea (the ladies had poured it for him, though he hadn't tried it). The surface was rippling.

Another thump, and another ripple. 

“Guys?”

The entire surface of the pond was now rippling.

“What is it now?” fussed Crank as Knobs stood and walked out to peer over the dock, down towards the far end of the pond.

“This one has apparently taken the form of an Old School _kaiju_ ,” said Knobs, staring calmly through a pair of binoculars

“What?” Dean tore over to the edge where Knobs was standing, brushed him aside, and grabbed the binoculars.

“Bit rude, mate. I was attempting to watch Godzilla.”

“Guys,” said Kevin, gesturing for calm. “Dean's a hunter. He's gotta make observations.”

“Fuck,” said Dean, peering through the binoculars, staring in horror and disbelief at what he saw.

“Oh, brilliant observation!” muttered Knobs, right out loud.

Dean tossed the binoculars back to Knobs and ran for his guns. “You guys are saying you think this is another Hell monster?”

Crank and Knobs exchanged a glance. “They were supposed to be,” Crank explained.

“What does this mean?”

“Well, we probably shan't be able to finish our tea,” sighed Crank. 

“C'mon, ladies,” said Dean, heading for the exit. Crank and Knobs both looked earnestly back at the tea service. The stomping continued, the last one causing enough trembling to upset one of Knobs's china teacups. It crashed to the floor. “Oh, I am annoyed now,” Knobs muttered. “I shall most definitely kick some ass!” Everyone followed Dean out the door, and around the lake towards the demon who had taken the form of the king of monsters.

 

“You're not going to get anywhere this way,” sighed Sam. Ever since Rowena and some of her witchy buddies had wrested control of Hell away from Crowley, the situation in the underworld had reportedly become something of a tangle. The witches, fearsome and powerful as they may be, were also notorious drama queens. The management of Hell therefore soon sunk under the groaning weight of their collective resignation letters, as one by one the ladies threatened to leave their positions for a more suitable environment, where people were not so forward as to offer edits to their carefully wrought meeting minutes, nor take extended coffee breaks during moves to table amendments. 

“The witches have always been a pain in the patootie,” said Isis, who was bustling around, gathering more herbs. 

“They're so tacky, Icey” sighed Nephthys, who was sitting drinking a dry chardonnay. “No sense of style.”

“But I don't see that we have much choice. We must contact Hell.” Isis held up a silver knife, smooth and sharp, which flashed in the sun. Sid smiled good-naturedly and extended his arm. “We must determine what's going on in the JudeoChristian Underworld immediately, before we are living on beachfront property!” 

Nephthys rolled her eyes. “I do hate beaches so. Volleyball and such.”

Isis made a cut in Sid's arm and let it bleed into a bowl for a moment, and then Nephthys efficiently bandaged him up. Isis dabbed her fingers in the blood, and muttered an incantation. 

Sam, Nephthys and Sid hovered nearby. “So?” Sam finally asked.

Isis looked up from her scrying, her expression having taken a smiting cast. “I'm on hold!” 

“Happens when you run things by committee,” sang Nephthys, as swirling her white wine. “Especially a rather quarrelsome committee. I heard there were at least three resignations just last week.”

Sam was reluctant to mess with a goddess, but he had to ask, “Do they play muzak while you’re on hold?”

“Of course they do.” Isis scowled. “They’re-“ She squinted, as if hearing a voice. “I’m sorry, say again? They’ve opened a door? Yes, I’m calling about that door in Antarctica. Is someone watching- What? Who’s opened- You’ll need to calm down! What-?” The blood in the bowl fizzled, sparked and swiftly turned to dust, leaving Isis blinking in confusion. 

“Whoa dudes! My blood’s never done that trick before,” said Sid, who picked up the scrying bowl to stare. “Mad scrying, Isis dude.”

“What happened?” asked Nephthys.

Isis stuck a finger in her ear and wiggled it. “That was weird! They were screaming about a door in a desert. And the seven stars. What seven stars?”

“Oh, everything is in seven. They love their sevens! Seven stories, seven charms, seven brides for seven brothers….”

“Hey, that was a bitchin’ flick!” said Sid. He looked around in confusion as the rest of the occupants of the room scowled at him. “What? I dig musical comedy as an art form!”

“We could try again, but I’d need human blood,” said Isis. Sam shrugged his broad shoulders and rolled up a sleeve. “Are you sure, honey?” the goddess asked him.

“Believe me, I’m used to it.”

Nephthys grabbed a fresh silver knife and a clean bowl (causing Sam to wonder how much of that stuff they kept around) and after a quick cut and a bit of Winchester blood, Isis began scrying again. “Ah, here we are. Now-“ But this time, the blood boiled up and exploded in a cloud of acrid black smoke. “Ugh!” said Isis as Nephthys grabbed a can of WinterFresh Glade and began spraying it in the kitchen. 

“That can’t be good,” said Sam, rubbing the fresh bandage on his forearm.

“Never in five thousand years,” said Isis.

“Five thousand ten. On your next birthday,” said Nephthys. She spritzed Windex on her sister's glasses where they'd gotten bloody.

“We must get in touch with Hell, but this is getting us nowhere!”

Sam brought out his cell phone. “I’m gonna call in some favors. We used to know a guy.”

 

Now, the thing about Godzilla movies, and why they were always kind of stupid, it was a bunch of people running away and screaming their heads off.

But here's something to know about Godzilla: he's 400 feet tall, and he spews _radioactive fire._

Running the other way and screaming your head off, in other words, was the rational way to go.

Unless of course you were a demon hunter and presently seemed to think the whole world was a video game in which you had about a billion extra lives. In that case, you ran _towards_ Godzilla.

Here was the thing: this demon in Godzilla's guise had emerged from Hell to stomp around the game and generally wreak havoc, but it never strayed too far from the portal through which it had apparently wriggled here, and through which Dean needed to go to get back to Hell. And Cas. Which had been the point of all of this.

Knobs had explained (he'd even used a fucking white board – why did the game have a fucking white board?) the logistics of the situation. The beast was strongly connected to the portal (something about utilizing Hell energies), and thus would need some kind of powerful inducement to move far enough away to make room for Dean to run through the door without being eaten, or at least fried to a crisp. So right now, they were crouching nearby, spitballing crazier and crazier ideas to shoo the monster away from the door to Hell long enough for Dean to make a run for it.

“So, what do Godzillas eat?” asked Dean Winchester, because, Kevin supposed, all this stupidity and chaos wasn't enough for him. They had gotten around the lake, closer to the demon, and were nearly trampled by folks running the other way. They stood a couple miles away from the mighty beast now, as more rational citizens of the game ran by screaming, the scent of radioactive fire in the air.

“This begs the question, is there more than one Godzilla?” reposted Knobs. Knobs was also way to into this stuff. 

“I believe he is referring to _kaiju_ as a class,” said Crank. Who was, ditto, ditto. 

And they weren't even hunters, they were game-designing geeks. Was Kevin the only rational person left in the world?

“They have very distinct ecological niches. Your Mothras versus your Ghidoras.”

“I hate to break this to you,” said Kevin, who was really at the end of his rope, “but they’re all dudes wearing rubber suits.”

Just then, there was a scream, a stomp of two, and the roar of fire.

“Or not,” said Dean, peeking out from behind the burnt out tree in whose shadow they were all crouched. Another small knot of people ran screaming past them. Kevin looked after them wistfully.

Crank looked thoughtful. “Anyway, as for Godzilla and his ilk don't the blighters subsist on nuclear energy?” 

An explosion rocked the ground, but the three idiots continued musing about the ecology of _kaiju_. “Guys, we're going to get killed,” Kevin pleaded.

“Did you get the memo, kid? You're already dead,” Dean informed him. 

“But I don't know what happens if you get killed in the Veil!”

“Quite a metaphysical puzzlement, isn't it?” asked Knobs, no little amount of glee shining in his bespectacled eyes. 

“You said you guys didn’t have any nukes,” asked Dean, brushing away ashes that had drifted into his hair.

“Not at present, sadly.”

“But we could purchase them. If we had the money.”

“Buy them?” asked Dean. “I thought you guys wrote the game? Can’t you just write yourself some more money?”

“’Are you mad? The game wallet is based on transactions based in crypto-currency verified by self-monitoring network nodes! Writing our own money would bring down the meta-economy!”

“Uh, yeah,” said Dean.

“Wait!” said Kevin. “Wait. My mom’s got a ton of Hell money. What if we just have her burn it all?”

Dean looked at Kevin. “Uh, burn fake money? Does that work with your crypto-economy?”

Crank and Knobs shrugged.

“Can you get to your mom’s place from here?” Dean asked.

“She doesn’t have my dad’s ring right now, so I’m gonna have to be quick, but I think she’s got enough of my stuff around I can do it.”

Kevin concentrated (which was not the easiest task with all the people running screaming from Godzilla) and at length managed to manifest himself in his mom’s apartment. He found to his surprise that the weird goth chick from her book store was still hanging out. She was staring at the TV. 

And there were cats.

“Uh, Wendy, right?”

The goth girl tore her eyes away from the TV and regarded him a moment. “I like Wednesday, but yeah.”

“You know where my mom is?”

“Linda went out. She had to deal with stuff.”

Great. And left him to deal with a sulky teenager. “This is kind of urgent, Wednesday. Any idea when she’ll be back?”

Wendy/Wednesday gave a languid shrug. “Like, whenever? There’s stuff.”

Well, that was helpful. He glanced at the TV, wondering what the hell Wendy was doing there anyway. Shouldn’t she be doing her job? Seriously, his mom needed to get on the stick with these lazy clerks. “What are you watching, some kind of disaster movie?”

Wendy gave him a very weird look, and pursed her pierced lips as she curled up on the couch. “Sort of. If you wanna call it that.”

Kevin snorted.

“Look, do you have a problem, Ghost Boy?” she asked. 

“You’re just an idiot, OK? Hanging around wearing black and mooning about death and morbid crap. Guess what? I’m dead. It’s not like it’s fun! I had dreams. I wanted to be the first Asian American president. I wanted to do something with my life. Now it’s all gone to shit.”

Wendy glared. “Oh, yeah, like I wanted this. Like my life is so great.” She swept her arm at the TV. “I didn’t want the fucking apocalypse. I didn’t want them to ruin the planet! But that’s what I’m getting.”

Kevin stopped short. “What?”

“At least you had hope, once! You think it’s bad being dead? Try working in retail some time! My life is just a bunch of dead end jobs. I thought this one would at least be different. Your mom seems pretty mellow, and it’s people at the beach. You think they’d be cool, but they’re not! They are so not! You know what happened to me this morning, when I was trying to get people out, to get the cats?”

There were tears running in her mascara now, so Kevin just asked, “What happened.”

“I’m trying to get the cats out, right? The fire department is there. There’s a truck outside the book store, with the lights flashing. They’re evacuating everybody close to the beach. Because of the flood. And it’s my book store, so I’m trying to get everybody out, and I’m trying to get the cats, but this woman won’t leave.”

“Why wouldn’t she leave?”

“She wanted us to ring up her fucking books first! That’s why. Bitch was going to drown, and drown me, and the girl on the register, and the cats, but she wanted her fucking E.L. James paperback first!”

“That … sucks,” said Kevin. And then, “Um, my mom’s shop flooded?”

“Don’t you guys hear stuff like this?” 

“Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I’m omniscient.”

Wendy gesticulated at the TV. “The sea level is rising! They say we’re all doomed.”

“Seriously?” Kevin sat down to watch for a moment. “Geez. I should really get back then. Look, maybe you could help me?”

“What do you need?”

“I came here for money.”

Wendy stared. “You still get, what, an allowance?”

“No, it’s not like that. Hell money! It’s a long story, but we’re trying to distract a really big demon, and the only way for me to get cash is for someone on this side to burn Hell money.”

“That sounds … kind of weird.”

“Hey, I didn’t set up the rules.”

“So, where’s the cash?”

Finally! Kevin pointed to a drawer. “Over here!”

 

Sam yawned and stretched. After this, he would definitely find a motel room and crash for a few hours. The trip from LA to Vegas was quick, but Vegas to Sioux Falls less so, and he wasn’t so young any more.

Also, his brother was kind of going to Hell right now. 

“You doing all right, kiddo?”

Sam looked up into Jody Mills’s look of motherly concern. How she could be a badass law enforcement official while simultaneously working her mom voice, he had no idea, but the woman was awesome. “Long drive,” he drawled, extracting his large frame from the woefully undersized chair in the police station’s entryway. He stretched, and something popped.

“There’s such a thing as airplanes, you know.”

“My brother would never forgive me if I stranded his car in Vegas to take a plane.”

Jody looked around. “Where is Dean, anyway?”

“Long story. Anyway, uh, how’s Alex?”

Jody smiled fondly. “Busy being a teenager. Keeps life interesting. You wanna see him?”

Sam nodded, so Jody escorted him back to the holding cells. “It’s great that you found him so quickly.”

“I never erased his cell phone number. Though I probably should have.”

“You’ve got Crowley’s cell number?” asked Sam, scratching the back of his neck. He had a crick from the marathon drive.

“That’s _my_ long story.”

Sam smiled, but also vowed to take Jody out drinking one of these days to get the scoop on this one. “You didn’t have any trouble holding him?”

Jody’s face burst into a proud grin. “I may have painted a few devil’s traps in some of the holding cells. Purely as a precaution.”

“You are a paranoid individual, Jody Mills. Bobby Singer would have been proud.”

“You think so?” She looked genuinely chuffed at mention of the old hunter. “Anyway, I’m not sure any of that stuff’s needed in this case.”

“Come again?”

She didn’t reply, just sighed and pushed through the doorway that led to the holding cells. It was quiet in there today. Jody nodded brusquely to the officer on duty there, and strode all the way to the cell farthest away from the door. Sam heard the moan from within, and went to stand beside her.

“Fell outta bed again,” muttered Jody.

Sam gasped, and squatted down so he could get a better look at the nearly unrecognizable figure now curled up on the floor in a tangle of bedding. 

“Crowley?” he said, very softly.

The eyes snapped open, and the wretched figure was suddenly staring at Sam through bloodshot eyes. He let out a rasp, and one hand reached out, ragged fingernails grasping at the air. 

Sam stood up. “Like I said,” Jody told him, “I don’t know if you’re going to get anything useful out of him.”

“Is it OK if I take him off your hands - try to dry him out?”

“You’d be doing me a favor. Otherwise, I’d have to get an order to commit his demon butt. And I don’t really wanna bother with the paperwork.” She turned to leave, but Sam lingered.

_“Why…?”_

It was barely a whisper. A harsh, broken whisper.

“What … are you doing here?” the figure managed to croak.

“I’m breaking you out, Crowley.” Sam peered into the rheumy eyes.

“Who… Who the hell are you?

 

All Dean had said was, “A nuke! Awesome!” Because, what else did you say to a nuke?

The deal had taken the rest of Linda's Hell money plus several bottles of Viagra (they seemed to love the stuff down here), but Dean wasn’t quite sure what you did with money after you died anyway.

Kevin’s nerdy friends had the deal all wrapped up. They strapped the bomb to one of their rockets, and pointed it towards the rampaging monster. And then they had warned just as a little aside that the portal was going to close in a few minutes.

At which point Kevin stepped between Dean and the nerds to prevent any bloodshed, and Dean had set off running across the game landscape, with a final word to Kevin to take care of Linda, and tell Sammy not to worry, Dean would be back in no time with Cas, and then they would go kick some ass on whatever this apocalypse thing was going on outside that Kevin had been babbling about when he brought the nuke.

Dean was running so hard, he barely noticed when the bomb actually went off. It was evidently something they called a “tactical nuke,” not like the big guys they’d dropped during the war. Well, it was the afterworld, you couldn’t exactly be choosy, could you? 

Dean was hoping Godzilla would do as they predicted and take off after it, so Dean wouldn’t get eaten on the way to the rapidly closing portal.

Oh shit, there was the doorway! Dean was reminded of his trip out of Purgatory, and that weird vortex that had swept him up. Not a great memory. This one was smaller, about the size of a real door. No, it was more like the size of a window. Shit! Even as he watched, it was shrinking. The eggheads had been right.

Dean ran and ran. And then he leapt. 

At the last minute, he had a thought: Isis’s sigil necklace, the one she told him to keep with him?

Kevin was still wearing it.

_Oops!_

And then he was sucked away.

 

Kevin manifested back in Isis and Nephthys’s living room, looking like his hair was on fire.

“Dude, is your hair on fire?” asked Sid.

Kevin rolled his eyes.

“How are you, dear?” inquired Nephthys. “Would you like some more cake offerings?” She held up a tray of paper cutouts.

Kevin sighed, and held up Isis’s sigil necklace.

 

“Sam. Dude! You want the good news first, or the bad news?”

Sam placed his cell on the dash of the Impala and scanned the road ahead. He was driving along the interstate with a demon in the trunk and the Buddha on speaker phone. How much weirder were things going to get? “The good news,” he told Sid.

“Kevin reports that by all accounts, your brother has made it to Hell!”

“And that’s the good news?” asked Sam. Something, he thought, was definitely wrong with his life.


	4. Bugs

Dean blinked and brushed himself off. He looked around, heart thudding in his chest.

This was definitely weird. Had he landed in the right place? He was standing in the middle of a field, and there was no one else in sight – no demons, nothing.

He reached for his cell phone, but then remembered after he’d already thumbed the map app that there wouldn’t be a GPS signal. He stared at the screen. Oddly enough, he had five bars. 

“There’s cell towers in Hell?” he asked, wondering where he was. He shrugged, and just on a whim, typed in “Castiel” and hit the _Get Directions_ button.

The phone beeped and displayed a map.

He shrugged. Well, why not? 

He walked for a time through the field, and came across a meandering stream. The stream led to a wood. He still hadn’t sighted any demons, nor even any damned souls. It was pretty weird. Not that he hadn't sensed anything amiss. Every once in a while, crawling just at the edge of his vision, he half-glimpsed something squirming through the brush. But by the time he turned around, it was inevitably gone.

The surroundings had begun to seem awfully familiar. Purgatory? No, that wasn’t it. Something else. Dean came to a fence line, and the realization hit him.

“Camp Chautauqua? Are you shitting me?” Zachariah's dumb dystopian future. But why the hell was it, you know, in Hell?

With a great sense of déjà vu, Dean slipped under the fence and crept through the woods. He walked by his baby's rusting carcass, and had to stop to give her a pat on the fender, even though he knew full well this was all bullshit. 

The camp was as he remembered it from what had come to seem like a dream. With one important difference: there didn't seem to be anybody around. He wondered if the Croats had come in and cleared everyone out, but there didn't seem to be any evidence of a struggle. 

He came upon a familiar cabin. He waited outside for a moment, scanning the area for anyone: human or demon. When he had satisfied himself that the coast was clear, he made his way to the door, steeling himself for what he might find inside: Cas preparing for an orgy? Or perhaps his own, twisted post-apocalyptic self?

But the main room was clear of priapic fallen angels, Manson girls, or doppelgangers of any kind. He peered through the beaded curtain that obscured the main doorway. He thought he saw a flash of movement in the bedroom.

Stepping as lightly as possible, he crept up to the threshold and listened. Then he stepped inside.

The pathetic figure cowering on the bed cringed back, hiding under a dark, ratty blanket.

No, it wasn't a blanket – those were wings!

“Holy shit. Cas?”

Dean approached the bed, only to have the figure cower back, shivering and pressing itself against the wall. Dean saw that it was chained to the metal headboard around one bony, bare ankle. He cringed as he saw the fresh bruises that ringed the angel's leg.

“Cas, that you?” he asked softly. He heard Cas breathing, and noticed now that there were bare spots on the wings, marked by more blood and bruises. “Are they hurting you, buddy? I'm here to get you, OK? We're gonna bring you home.”

He pulled a lockpick out of his pocket and sat down on the bed. He reached for the ankle chain, but Cas thrashed.

“Hey, hey! I know they've been hurting you. It's Dean! OK?” He reached for Cas's ankle again, and again the angel tried to squirm away. 

“Cas, look at me!” Dean said. He stopped what he was doing and started to tug the wings down, so Cas could look him in the eye.

_Crack!_ Dean was knocked clean off the bed and halfway across the room. He caught his breath, and stood. “Cas-” He stopped dead. Cas was now crouched on the bed, glaring at him, dark wings arched up. He was a mess, bruised and bloodied all over his face and bare chest. But the worst was his feral glint in his eye. He wasn't Cas, he was some terrible creature.

“Cas, OK, they beat you up pretty bad. I get it. I've been here, remember? Now I'm gonna get the shackles off, and we're gonna get the fuck out of here.”

That didn't seem to make any difference. Cas scowled, the wings went up, and Dean could have sworn that he growled. 

Fighting his every instinct, Dean held up his hands. “Look. I'm not gonna hurt you, Cas. I've come to rescue you, dammit. I'm gonna....” He halted. Was it too corny? “Listen to me! I'm gonna grip you tight and raise you from perdition!”

Cas blinked. Dean held his breath. Was that – finally – recognition in his eyes?

Suddenly, Cas jerked, his eyes unfocused. His head turned towards the door. Dean heard footsteps. “Shit.”

Cas was off the bed, as far as the chain would allow, grabbing Dean by the shoulders. He held a hand over Dean's mouth, his eyes urgent.

Dean nodded, and let Cas pretty much stuff him underneath the bed. Dean scooted in as far as he could, and Cas threw the bedclothes down to cover him up. 

The front door slammed, and Dean heard heavy boots treading into the room. Up overhead, Cas's weight shifted, cowering, Dean supposed, towards the back.

The footsteps stopped. Whatever it was, it was in the room. 

“Cas. Is your worthless ass still alive?”

Dean's blood turned to ice. 

The voice was his own.

There was the sound – a blow, like someone whacking on a side of beef. The bed rocked. Cas's Hell: Dean's rotten, burned out double beating the shit out of him.

Furious, Dean wriggled out from under the bed, and grabbed a chair. 

“Hey! Remember me!”

The demon – if that's what it was – turned. Dean gazed into his own eyes. 

And then he smacked the shit out of himself with a chair. 

 

“You didn’t have to come all this way, Jody,” Sam told her. 

Jody was fussing with the mattress they had set out on the floor of the dungeon. “Yeah, I know, Sam. But you’re by yourself now, and I’d like to think Dean would approve of you having some back up. And I’m a cop. I’ve dealt with junkies before.”

“Just … thanks.” Sam decided to keep it short and sweet. In actuality, Dean most like would _not_ have approved of dragging a civilian into this mess, but Jody’s no-nonsense presence was definitely a comfort. Although Sam had an inkling her reasons for accompanying him to the bunker were not entirely charitable. He couldn’t quite suss it out though, so contented himself for now with making sure the prisoner was secure. “Are we ready for him?”

“I think so.” Sam nodded and headed out to the car to retrieve the erstwhile king of Hell from the trunk of the Impala, where they’d stashed him. They had tucked a bag over his head, which was probably unnecessary, as he already knew damn well where they were, but it seemed to calm him down. Sam was able to lift him out of the trunk, no problem – he weighed nothing. He half considered just carrying him to the dungeon, like a sack of potatoes. But he set Crowley on his feet, and instead led him, shuffling, into the bunker and down the stairs. 

Sam got him sitting down on the mattress, and carefully unlocked the demon cuffs as Jody kept watch. And then, as a last step, he removed the hood and stepped back.

Crowley blinked blearily up at them. Rheumy eyes passed over Sam, still registering no sign of recognition. 

“You need anything?” Jody asked Sam. “I gotta go call Alex, make sure she’s not tearing up the house.” She pulled out her cell phone and departed. 

Sam crouched down to speak to Crowley. “All right, here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re the big man with the contracts, right? I figure you’ve gotten into the demon blood again. We’re gonna dry you out, and then you’re gonna do us a favor. And then you’re gonna leave, and I never want to see your rotten face again. You hear me?”

Crowley blinked. Sam wondered if there was even a demon in there any more. Well, it was worth a try. And something to keep himself occupied instead of fretting over…. Well, something to keep him occupied.

“What’s … wrong?”

“What?” Sam thought at first he’d misheard. “Nothing’s wrong.” Sam stood up to leave.

“Moose?”

“You _do_ remember me, huh?” Sam slapped his own arm. “Yeah, well, no more blood donor stuff, so don’t even think about it.”

“Kevin?”

Sam paused again, even though his instincts were telling him to get the hell out of there. Crowley had managed to prop himself up on one arm. 

“Kevin’s dead.”

“No.” Crowley reacted as to a blow. He folded in on himself, curled back up on the floor, and emitted a single sob.

“Yeah, well, what’s done is done. Oh, and _you_ didn’t kill him. I did!” Because, yeah, guilt. He steeled himself, exited the cell, and made damn certain all the locks were fixed on the door.

And then he went to pour himself a good stiff drink.

 

It wasn’t much of a fight, leading Dean to wonder how a third-rate demon like this one had managed to hold onto Cas for so long. He finished the demon double off with a whack to the head. The replica shattered, and then, to Dean's horror, fell apart. His doppelganger morphed into a mass of squirming bugs – roaches or something equally nasty. They roiled apart, swarmed into the floorboards and disappeared.

“Ew.” Dean shuddered. “Now Cas,” he said, turning around, “let me get that chain.”

But the chain snapped. Cas threw open a window, lunged out, and flew away.

Cas flew away. Flapping his wings. Like a really big bird.

“Seriously?” said Dean. “Dammit, Cas. Don’t be like that! I just rescued you.”

He sighed and waited. But when it was clear his friend was not going to return, he crawled out through the very same window, all the time muttering darkly about ungrateful wavelengths of celestial intent, and began walking in the direction he’d seen Cas flying to. He prayed Cas hadn’t gone far. He stopped and programmed his cell phone's map app again. “CASTIEL.” All right, thataway. Stupid angel!

He walked across a field, and came to a knot of fallen wood, where, if it weren’t Hell, he would think a bolt of lightning had struck a tree.

It looked like a bird of prey, full of fury. Dean wasted no time in heading over. 

Castiel the seraph squatted barefoot on a low, snaggle-branched, leafless Hell tree, wings slowly flapping, murderous look in his eye.

“Cas! Hey, buddy!” Dean was out of breath, but all smiles. “Why did you take off? I'm here to rescue you.”

“I wanted to keep you safe, Dean.”

Dean was brought up short. “What? You mean back on the beach?”

Cas glared.

“Well, you did, buddy.”

“Then why are you here?” 

“To get you.”

Cas was off the branch in a flash of dark feathers, and standing nearly nose to nose with Dean, wings outstretched, glaring with the righteous fury of a fallen angel. “One thing. One thing in my miserable existence. One thing I did right. One thing I could cling to in my damnation.”

Dean didn’t back away. He crossed his arms and glared right back. “You're not damned, Cas.”

The wings arched up, twin shadows, looming over Dean. “I saved you. Now, it's all gone. All gone!”

“Wings down, dammit! Calm the fuck down, Cas. I'm in Hell. You're in Hell. Now we gotta figure a way out of here.”

“Did you drag Sam down here too?”

“Sam's fine. Look, Cas-”

Dean felt himself thrown to the ground. “Dammit, Cas!” he cried, but a shadow crossed his line of vision. Dean struggled up to see something that looked like a giant centipede looming over Cas, who, from the blue glow that fired up his eyes, was charging up for a good smiting.

Not to be outdone, Dean drew his demon knife from his belt and lunged. Sparks flew as the knife hit home in the abomination's carapace. The monster writhed and collapsed.

“Dean!” shouted Cas, whirling to face his friend. “I was protecting you.”

“I was protecting _you_ , you idiot!” countered Dean.

“Stay out of the way!”

“Cas, you're in no shape to fight these things alone.”

“I will not let you get hurt.”

“Well, I'm not gonna let _you_ get hurt!” This was obviously going nowhere fast.

Cas stared, but suddenly his eyes grew wide. “Dean!”

Dean whirled around just in time to see the giant demon's tail whip around at them, the stinger – as big around as his arm – dripping some kind of venom. Dean managed to get his knife up in time, driving it into the tail as he ducked, and then Cas finished it off with a smiting blow. The thing fizzled, and then – as Dean's double had done – broke apart into a swarm of gross little Hell bugs that scattered into the field.

“Ugh! I hate those things. Next time I'm bringing a giant sized can of Raid.”

“Dean!” There was a hand gripping his shoulder. “Are you.... Are you all right?”

Dean turned back to his friend, glad they were at least no longer quarreling. “I'm fine. Are you good?”

The wings slowly lowered, and then Dean saw the hitch in Cas’s breathing, and glimpsed the wet stains on his face. 

“Cas.” Dean put a hand on the angel's face, wiping away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “You're not damned, OK? Something bad and old got you and dragged you down, and we're gonna grab you back out. Grip you tight and whatever. Hey!” Cas was trembling, and now tears were falling. Dean closed the distance between them, slinging his arms around Cas, trying to avoid the wings. “Hey! You're OK. I got you. I swear.” 

Cas's breath hitched once, twice, and then he melted, arms and wings all wrapped around Dean, sniffling like a kid with a bee sting. 

Dean was smiling, despite himself. “You're cool. Right? Everything's cool?” Cas's breathing slowly returned to normal. Dean gently disentangled himself and pushed back a little bit. Those ungodly blue eyes rimmed red with grief. “So, you know that wasn't me, right? Back there at the camp?”

To Dean's relief, Cas shook his head. “Of course it wasn't. It was a demon.”

Dean needed a tissue. The angel was drippy. And dude wasn't wearing a shirt (because, _wings_ ) so he couldn't even wipe off on the sleeve. Dean fished through his jacket pockets and found a not too ratty Kleenex and tried to mop up the worst of it. Suddenly, a very big wing tip swept up and dabbed at Cas's face. Oh, yeah, his friend had big giant, feathery wings. Because his friend was an angel. 

He noticed again that there were a few bare spots on the wings – patches where the feathers were missing or damaged. “Hey, did he hurt your wings?”

“I'm fine,” Cas whispered.

“That asshole!” Somehow, this seemed a step too far. How dare anybody lay a hand on Cas's wings? Here they were, all pretty and angelic and stuff! 

“And Sam?” Cas sniffed.

“Sam's fine. Well, not all fine. It's bad out there Cas. Worse than we thought. Our friends are in danger. Everybody is in danger. Sam. And Mrs. Tran.”

“Linda? She was very kind to me,” said Cas.

“We've gotta get out there and save the world, buddy. Again.”

Cas nodded.

“Now listen: we're getting us both out of here. Both! No negotiations. And no fucking with me, like Purgatory.” He fixed Cas with a stare. Cas at least paid him the courtesy of appearing slightly contrite. “Cas?”

Cas was standing aside now, staring off in the distance, but with his eyes kind of unfocused. His wings were halfway up, the wind ruffling his feathers. Strange but he looked right this way, as if the wings had been there all along, but Dean just hadn’t noticed them before. 

The eyes snapped back into focus, and Cas was turned towards Dean. Somehow, blood-stained and dressed in ragged clothes, Cas had never looked more angelic. 

“I have sensed something amiss. Have you noticed that there are few other creatures around?”

“Yeah, it's empty.” Now that Dean thought of it, it didn't match his Hell memories, not at all.

“There is, as you might put it, new management down here.” 

“One more thing, Cas. Like I said, we get out of this, both of us, together. You understand? This is not like Purgatory.”

“Yes, Dean-”

“No, I mean it. We've got a job to do. A big one! And we-” He stared into Cas's eyes, and suddenly the big speech he was winding up just deflated. “Oh, fuck it. I need to with me. That's all. Because everything...” Dean waved his hands, as if to encompass it all. “Everything doesn't work. Unless it's you and me. All right? _Capice?_ ”

That smile again. “I _capice_ ,” Cas muttered. Dean stepped back and laughed, which got a pretty healthy glower, and then a tentative half-smile. “It is good to see you again, Dean.” 

“It's so good seeing _you_ , buddy,” Dean replied, gripping the angel's bare shoulder and grinning wide. “Now, are you good to travel? We do need to get out of here. And I screwed up. I was supposed to have this goddess's charm deal. Anyway, we're gonna have to improvise. You heard about the back door that goes through Purgatory?”

Cas appeared wistful, and his wings pulled in towards his body. “Sam utilized that route.”

“I'd say we make our way there. And then out through the door. Now, you didn't answer my question. Are you powered up?”

Cas flashed his version of the Winchester bitchface.

And then, suddenly, Cas … _changed_. Dean couldn't quite explain it, but he had grown bigger, and somehow more vague. Dean was in his arms, and they were both up in the air. “Cas!”

“I thought … this would be … the fastest way,” Cas told him between beats of his broad wings.

“You gotta warn me first!” Dean said. Did Cas have two heads now? No, three heads! Whoa, this was weird. One looked like Cas, but there was also an eagle. And maybe a lion?

They were in the air, gliding over the landscapes of Hell. The sky darkened, and the wind was chill, but Cas cradled him tightly. “Is this how it was, Cas? I mean, when you were taking me out, the first time?”

Cas answered in time to his wing beats. “The terrain of Hell … is much changed. And you … your soul was much damaged … from your time … but still shone brightly … as a beacon … so to light the darkness.” 

“Aw shucks. You say the nicest things, Cas,” laughed Dean. The rhythmic beating of the wings was soothing somehow, and Dean found himself quite weary, so he must have dozed off for a time.

He awoke with a start when they alit. It was almost completely dark, save for the soft greyish light emitting from an open doorway.

A single, tall figure stood in front of the door, blocking it. Cas, back in his human form, was standing next to Dean, a hand gripping his shoulder, one wing curled, protectively, around him.

The man at the door smiled, and suddenly Dean knew exactly who it was. And who it wasn't.

“Lucifer.”

 

“Seriously, Linda. You could stay here as long as you want. We've got room.” Sam walked around the bunker as he spoke on the phone because it was better to be walking around than sitting down. 

_“Things aren't that bad. Just a little wet. And besides, Ocean Park is my home now. This is where my cats live.”_

“You could bring the cats.”

Sam heard a soft chuckle on the other end. _“Thanks for the invitation, kiddo, but no.”_

“If things get worse-”

_“You're gonna fix it before it gets worse, right?”_

Sam gulped. “Yes, ma'am.”

_“Now knock it off and get to work!”_

Sam hung up, regretting that there really wasn't much to do. He sniffed the air. Was that smoke?

He took off running for the dungeon, his stomach tightening when he saw the door to Crowley's cell was open. He heard a soft voice, repeating low words.

He charged inside, ready for anything.

Jody looked up at him, smiling sheepishly. She folded her book into her lap and tamped her cigarette into her empty can of Tab. “Uh, sorry. Could you smell it?”

Sam glanced over at Crowley, curled up on his mattress on the floor, safely inside the devil's trap, apparently dozing. 

“Sorry about the cigarette,” Jody told him.

“Naw, that's OK. Dean smokes.”

“He does?”

“Yeah, he always thinks I don't notice, but I do.”

Jody took a long puff and chuckled. “Damn that kid. Doesn't he know these things'll kill ya?”

“You're just hanging out here?”

“I was reading to him. I know it sounds a little dumb, but I used to read to my kid.” She held up a picture book, _The True Store of the Three Little Pigs._ “It's told from the wolf's point of view. I found this on the discount rack last time I went into town. I don't know how much he's hearing right now....” She nodded towards Crowley. “But you know how you're supposed to read to coma patients and stuff like that?”

“Oh. OK. Well, you never know, right?”

'You might have had this one read to you.”

“No, actually. I didn't know my mom-”

“Oh, shit. I'm sorry, Sam.”

“And our dad didn't really go in for that kinda stuff.”

“So? Sit down. We'll have some bonding time.”

Sam laughed, and, satisfied that things were truly all right, pulled up a chair and sat down next to Jody.

Jody brought the book back out. _“Everybody knows the story of the Three Little Pigs. Or at least they think they do. But I'll let you in on a little secret. Nobody knows the real story, because nobody has ever heard my side of the story. I'm the Wolf. Alexander T. Wolf. You can call me Al...."_

“You had … a boy?”

Jody and Sam both jerked to stare at Crowley.

“Yeah, I had a kid,” said Jody. “His name was Owen.”

“Jody!” Sam warned. “Be careful!”

Jody shrugged. “He doesn't look too dangerous to me. I had a boy, but he died,” she told Crowley.

“You … miss him?”

“Of course!”

Crowley had sat up, all wrapped up in bedding, staring in wonder at Jody. “You didn't try to trade him?”

Jody and Sam looked at one another. “Uh, trade him?” Sam asked.

“For pigs!”

“No, can't say that I did.” Jody leaned over and, before Sam could stop her, offered her cigarette to Crowley. With hungry eyes, he snatched it and took a very long puff. Jody nodded at Sam. “I can tell another smoker a mile off.”

Crowley handed the cigarette back. “Thank you. You have a kind heart.”

Jody raised her eyebrows. “You wanna get back to the book?”

“Yes, I should enjoy that.”

Jody picked up the book once again. _“No one knows just how this whole Big Bad Wolf thing got started, but it's all wrong. Maybe it's because wolves eat cute little animals like bunnies and sheep and pigs. That's just the way they are. If cheeseburgers were cute, folks would probably think people were Big and Bad, too….”_

 

“Dean,” said the charming fallen angel wearing Sam's face and Sam's body and all that was Sam. “Didn't I tell you before you'd always end up here?”

The door to Purgatory was right there. Dean could even see the bare forests, just behind Lucifer. 

“How did he get out of the Cage?” Dean whispered to Cas.

“Maybe the result of blocking the Veil.”

“Fucking Metatron,” Dean grumbled. He turned to Lucifer. “Hey, you left the door open. You born in a barn?”

Lucifer's face filled with sorrow. “Someone left the door open. Pity.”

“We don't have time for games. Stand aside.”

Lucifer contorted Sam's face into a look of sympathy. “Dean, always convinced you'll get your way. You do realize I could extinguish you like this?” He snapped his fingers. 

Dean winced, and noticed Cas's wing curled tighter around him. “You could. But you won't.”

“And why not? I'm sincerely curious. You're such an interesting specimen, Dean.”

“He's no specimen,” Cas rumbled, wings flaring up.

“Cas, let me handle this one,” said Dean. “You had your Hell. I think this one is mine.”

“Your Hell?” mocked Lucifer. “You didn't need me for your Hell. It's around you everywhere.” And Dean suddenly became aware of … things out in the darkness behind them. They were there, lurking behind his back. Dean wanted to grab his gun, turn around, start shooting, start screaming. 

Instead, he stood stock still, and put out a hand towards Cas. He ended up grabbing a hank of wing. “It's OK.”

“Castiel, by your side. And how long before he leaves you, Dean? Abandoned, just like your mother and your father abandoned you.”

“Leave my parents out of this.”

“And your brother.” Sam's face grinned smugly. “I've made a career out of leaving, haven't I? You can't see him up there. I can. You know what he felt when he saw you, dead?”

“You’re not Sam. Shut. Up.”

“He felt _relief._ Finally, he was rid of you. Finally, a chance at a life.”

“A life? A fucking life? It's a fucking apocalypse out there!”

“Oh, I doubt it. Just a few old timers, stirring up trouble. They really shouldn't leave this kind of thing to the amateurs.”

Dean drew a breath, tried to calm himself down. He tightened his grip on Cas's wing: somehow, having the angel there was soothing. “You know who's behind this, then?” Dean asked Lucifer.

“Dundael. They've opened the doorway. Just a crack, but it was enough.” 

Cas actually gasped at the news. Dean tore his eyes from Lucifer to glance over. Cas was trembling with rage. “Dundael? It’s not possible! You're lying,” he hissed to Lucifer.

“Am I, little brother? One of your favorite new tactics, or so I've heard. So easy for you to latch onto human foibles, wasn't it? How many times have you deceived Dean now? I've lost count. Teaming up with that- That little upstart.” His face – Sam's face – was red with rage.

Whatever it was, writhing out there in the sick darkness, just out of sight, was drawing closer now. Dean could feel the _wrongness_ of it pressing up at him. He wanted to turn around. He didn't. “The upstart?” he asked. “Wait! You mean Crowley?”

“Don't mention that name!” Lucifer hissed at Dean. “Not in my realm!”

“Seriously? Mr. Lightbringer Whatever is jelly of _Crowley_?”

“I am not jealous of that no account little crossroads demon.”

“Stay back,” Cas warned, stepping between Lucifer and Dean.

“You threaten me, little brother,” said Lucifer.

“I am not your brother, Lucifer,” Cas spat. “Do not call me that.”

“Are you human now, Castiel?”

“No. But Dean is more a brother to me than you will ever be.”

In a flash, Lucifer was directly in front of Cas, leaning in. “Your brother?” he taunted. “Really? Is that what you want?” An eerie light flared, just for an instant, throwing the shadow of massive, dark wings. Lucifer was so much bigger than Cas. So much darker.

But Cas didn't step back, and didn't flinch. He glared up at his brother. And then his eyes flicked, just for a moment, to the side.

It was enough. Dean saw. Cas had drawn Lucifer away from the doorway. It would be a straight shot for Dean now, just a lunge, and he would be there, through the door, out of Hell, into Purgatory.

Cas gazed up defiantly at Lucifer. “I renounce our brotherhood, Lucifer,” was what he said. But what Dean heard was another Castiel, crying, so long ago, _“I’ll hold them off, I’ll hold them all off.”_

No. Not again. No fucking way. 

It was time for Dean to be a Winchester and do something outrageously stupid. He stared at the fallen angel standing before them, wearing Sam’s face, and a plan began to form.

“Hey, Luci,” said Dean, as Cas’s eyes were upon him instantly, pleading. “Exactly how long were you in that cage?”

“Long enough,” sneered Lucifer.

“And you made yourself like this – just like Sammy was, when he came out of Hell?”

Lucifer didn’t answer, but his eyes flashed hatred at Dean.

Dean smiled. “You know what? You’re not _my_ brother, either. Cas?”

“Dean?”

“Break his wall.”

Cas regarded Dean in horror, but then nodded grimly and advanced on the tall figure of Lucifer. “Wait, what are you doing?” Lucifer – mighty Lucifer – shrunk back as Cas stalked forward, arm extended, placed two fingers upon the other angel’s forehead. Power fizzled, and Lucifer’s eyes flashed, two bright coals.

And then he screamed.

Dean grabbed onto Cas’s arm, and, holding on for dear life, leaped through the doorway, dragging the angel along with him. 

They tumbled into Purgatory in a tangle of limbs and wings. Dean struggled to his feet and leapt to the door, slamming it shut with the weight of his body. 

He leaned against it for a moment, breathing hard. “Cas,” he said, praying he hadn’t broken the angel’s wings dragging him through, “are you OK, buddy?”

“For the moment.” The angel had risen to his feet, but now stared out across the field, his expression grim. Dean followed Cas’s gaze. A group of men and women was slowly approaching them, and they did not appear friendly.

“Great, outta the frying pan,” grumbled Dean. And then he saw something that made his blood run cold.

“Dean Winchester. Fancy meeting you here,” said Gordon Walker, grinning a pointed-tooth grin.

 

“Well, that was bracing!” said Nephthys, bustling past Sam down the bunker stairs, toting several shopping bags full of odds and ends. “We really haven’t tried teleporting in a dog’s age. A dog’s age!”

“I thought it was probably the best way, with, you know, with my brother….”

“He’s all set up!” Isis announced. Jody, standing behind her, nodded quietly. 

“Can I-?” Sam asked.

“Come along!” said Isis. She turned and padded back down the hall, her Crocs slapping on the concrete. Sam and Jody followed, Nephthys set down her bags and stepped smartly along after them. Even when moving house, it appeared, she wore six inch heels. 

They had brought Dean – or at least his body – back to his room, and he was laid out on the bed. He looked like he could have been sleeping, except Sam had never seen him so relaxed. There were a couple of joss sticks burning around him, so the air was fragrant. “We need to call him back soon!” Isis warned. “I don't want to fuss and fiddle with this magic!” 

“He'll be back, I'm sure,” said Sam, though he was growing less and less certain with each passing hour. The sisters had warned that if they left his soul out of his body too long, he'd return “not quite right.” Sam didn't know exactly what that meant, but really didn't want to know. 

Jody glanced at her watch. “It's demon feeding time, so I should check on our other guest.” She gave Dean a concerned glance, and then departed.

“Did you want to move your stuff in?” Sam asked Isis and Nephthys, not really wanting to linger in Dean's bedroom. 

“That would be splendid,” said Nephthys. “I'd like to freshen up!” 

Sam led them down the hall. “Would you like one room or two?” he asked, opening up a door. “We've got-”

“Oh one room will be more than sufficient, don't go to any trouble!” sniffed Nephthys, brushing past him and bustling around the room, squirting a little bottle of antibacterial cleaner on everything.

Isis grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him nearer. “Two rooms? Please?” she whispered.

“And we've got this adjoining room right here!” Sam said, opening the room next door. Isis sighed and entered, tossed her floppy hat onto the bed, and began poking around. 

Sam heard a commotion going on downstairs. “I gotta go!” he yelled, and took off running towards the dungeon. 

Jody whacking on Crowley with a broom. “Give it back, you little creep, or I swear I'll have your liver for lunch!”

Sam grabbed Jody and, not without effort, wrested the broom from her grip. Crowley was curled around something. 

“He won't give it back! It's mine!” she wailed. 

“Jody! It's all right! We'll get it.” To Sam's surprise (and no little distress) Jody choked a sob, and then collapsed in his arms, tears seeping from her eyes.

“What have you done now, little demon?” asked Isis. The sisters had followed Sam down to the room. Nephthys kept her distance, but Isis crouched down, just outside the devil's trap, peering at Crowley. 

Crowley raised his head. He was holding onto something – some kind of plush toy, from the looks of it. 

Isis held out a hand. “Come along now. It's not yours, is it?”

Crowley bit his lip, and then reluctantly passed along the toy to Isis.

“All right, that's good. We'll get you something else. We might even have something in our bags, don't we, Nef?” Nephthys scowled at Crowley, but nodded and left.

Isis handed the doll to Sam. It was a plush pig, complete with a funny little squiggly tail. He handed it to a grateful Jody. Jody wiped her eyes with the back of a sleeve, and Sam walked her out of the room.

“I'm sorry,” she sniffed.

“Don't worry about it. He drives everybody crazy.”

Jody hugged the pig. “It was Owen's. He liked that three pigs book, so I got it for him. I didn't keep a lot of his stuff because … I didn't wanna be weird. But I kept this.” She gave it a squeeze, and it made a little squeak. Sam cracked up, and Jody smiled. “I guess it's partly my fault. I said I'd bring it in, but it was like he didn't wanna give it back.”

“Not your fault, Jody. Believe me.”

Nephthys came up, carrying a couple of shopping bags. She held a small box towards Sam. “Before we forget, I wanted to give this back to you.” She then swept back into Crowley's room. Sam scowled at the box, and opened it up. Mr. Tran's ring was inside, set among many exotic sigils.

“What is that?” asked Jody. Sam picked the ring out of the box.

There was a fizzle of ozone, and Kevin's ghost appeared. “Damn, that's a relief!”

Jody emitted a small cry and hopped back, clutching the pig, which made a little squeak.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Hey, I'm Kevin Tran. Or I used to be.”

Jody relaxed. “Kevin the prophet kid?”

“Sorry,” said Sam. “I don't think you guys have met. This is Sheriff Mills, Kev.”

“Jody!” said Kevin, smiling as if he'd just seen an old friend. 

“I didn't mean to jump,” Jody told him. “Sorry, I've been having a fucked up day.”

“I've been having a lot of fucked up days. Hey, like your pig!”

“Were you trapped in this box, Kevin?” Sam asked. Mr. Tran’s ring was on a chain, so Sam slipped it over his head, thinking to keep it safe.

Jody tentatively held out the pig for Kevin to see. “Yeah, the sisters put me in there for the move,” he said, giving the pig a little squeak-squeak. “I think I had one of these when I was younger. Uh, when I was alive. Anyway, the sisters said it would keep me away from negative karma or something? But it was a tight squeeze.

Sam was scrutinizing the box when his cell phone went off. He pulled it out, saw a number he didn't recognize on the speed dial, and pushed the talk button.

“Is this the phone of Mr. Sam Winchester?” came the voice over the speaker.

“Uh, yes?”

“Knobs?” asked Kevin.

“Ah, Kevin! Splendid, splendid,” said the voice of Knobs. “We had heard you manifested on the earthly plain!” There was a huge crash in the background of wherever Knobs was speaking from.

“You’re phoning … from the Veil?” asked Sam.

“Yes, we have four bars!” Knobs announced. There was yet another crashing sound in the background.

“What's going on?” asked Kevin.

“Well, a tiny spot of trouble.” Crash! “Just a tiny spot.”

“A tiny spot!” came another voice in the background.

“Would you mind popping 'round to the Veil? Just for a trice.”

“I'll be right there. I'll be back,” Kevin told Sam, and fizzled out.

“How the Hell did he do that?” asked Sam, but Kevin was gone, leaving only the cell phone.

“OK, this is gonna be weird: roommates with a demon, a couple goddesses, and a ghost who gets phone calls,” said Jody.

Sam pocked the phone. “I've got whiskey.”

“Good. I've got cigarettes.”

 

Cas looked impressive as Hell like this, wings arched up, smiting scowl on his face. But they were facing a lot of angry monsters, led by the biggest son of a bitch Dean had ever encountered. “Stand back,” warned Cas.

Gordon grinned. “An angel, huh? Come up in the world, haven't you, Dean? Nicer than the demon brother. He'll make a good stuffing for my pillow.”

“Gordon, I don't have time for this.”

“You guys know each other?” asked one of the other vampires.

“His brother cut off my head,” said Gordon.

“Yeah, with razor wire. It was awesome,” Dean taunted. He tried to make a quick assessment. Six of them, all with murderous looks in their eyes. He didn't have a weapon, but that could be solved quickly, and he had Cas. He glanced around, trying to pick out the weak link, or at least the one holding the coolest looking weapon. There was a big guy, hanging in back, who might do the trick. 

“We need to take 'em back,” said the one who'd spoken before. He was thin, sort of a Garth Fitzgerald body type, but also appeared wiry and quick. One to take on after he'd knocked over the big dude. 

“We can make an exception here,” said Gordon.

“The King will wanna know, Gordon. An angel here!”

“The King?” asked Dean. Well, that was new.

“Fuck the King,” said Gordon, eyes not moving from Dean. Dean looked over at Cas, who seemed distracted. Dammit, this wasn't the time. 

“Dean,” whispered Cas.

There was a whistling sound overhead. “Leviathan?” Dean asked.

“No.”

“Demons! Get ready!” said the Garth dude.

There was a hiss, and suddenly the ground around them was covered in black smoke, a rotten egg smell everywhere. 

Cas pivoted, stuck his hand into the smoke, and there was a shriek, as a monster writhed into view, the multiple faceted eyes down its snake-like back all ablaze with Cas's power. It shuddered and went down, coiling on the ground. 

There were more beasts now, slithering out of the smoke. A lizard-looking one took a chomp out of the big guy's throat. He screamed and went down in a geyser of blood, and Dean scrambled over to grab his knife. He planted it unto what he assumed was the thing's heard, and it sizzled and died. Meanwhile, Cas was now busy smiting something that looked like an oversized cockroach, and the Garth dude and Gordon were trying to fight off a sort of octopus with tentacles. 

Dean turned, kicked, and jammed the knife into a horrifying face. He paused to take a breath, and heard a sizzle behind him. He swirled around to see Cas had caught some kind of bat-like beast that had been diving down on him. “Thanks, Cas,” he muttered. 

“Take cover!” came a shout. Cas grabbed Dean and dropped, shielding himself and Dean in his wings. Dean heard shouts and something whizzing by, and then silence. 

Dean looked up. He was nearly nose to nose with Cas. The angel's eyes were wide, searching for something unseen. “I think we are all right now.”

“The demons?”

“Dead. All dead.”

“How?” 

Cas shook his head. He touched Dean's face lightly, and a smile traced his features. “Be careful.”

Dean found he wanted to stay in his angel nest, but Cas stood, folding his wings. The remaining demons lay around them, arrows sticking from the carcases.

A new group of monsters appeared, these armed with bows and carrying quivers. “Jeremiah! Are you all right?” a woman called to the skinny guy.

“We're good, thanks Lenore.”

“Oh, shit,” whispered Dean. Cas drew in his wings, which seemed to mean he was upset. The newcomers spotted Cas and gathered around. 

“What is this?” asked an older vampire.

“Angel,” said Gordon, who, unfortunately, had survived as well.

“Castiel,” said Lenore. She cast a glance at Dean. “And Dean Winchester.”

“Wait,” said Jeremiah. “How do y'all all know each other! This is fucking weird!”

“We were just about to cut off a few heads,” Gordon told Lenore, glaring at Dean.

“We will bring them before the King,” Lenore told him, and now they glared at one another.

“That's what I said!” piped up Jeremiah. Maybe he was more like Garth than Dean had reckoned? 

But Dean had gotten curious. “All right. Cas and I will go talk to your King. But we're just going to talk. We have important business back home.”

“And just how are you intendin' to get back home?” asked Jeremiah.

“There's a portal,” said Lenore.

“What?”

“Humans only, dimwit,” said Gordon, who was obviously just as charming in the afterlife. “But they're not gonna use it.”

“That's up to the king,” said Lenore. She gestured, and everyone began to walk back in the direction from which the archers had come, along a riverside.

Dean fell in step beside Lenore, careful to keep his distance from Gordon. “Lenore, what was that? The demons?”

“It's been happening more and more often lately,” she sighed. “We've had to organize to keep from being slaughtered.”

“They get through that door?”

“They didn't used to. Something has changed. The King will tell you about it.”

“Since when do you have a King?”

“Since we needed one. He came here.”

Well, that wasn't getting him anywhere. 

“I- I am sorry. For what happened,” Cas told her. Dean winced. He really didn't wanna get into that right now.

Lenore looked him over. “It was a mercy killing,” she finally said. “I wasn't meant to live up there. This isn't great, but at least the urge is gone. I'm not hungry for blood all the time, that really sucked. Uh, so to speak,” she added, with a half smile.

Lenore? Joking? Purgatory was definitely more interesting since Dean last visited. They came over a small rise, and it became apparent just how much the place had changed: there was a small settlement, complete with a few actual buildings. “Vampire Village? Seriously?”

“We do better out of the light,” Lenore said, but then shrugged and rushed ahead, as if she didn't want to speak about it. 

Dean approached Cas instead. “You doing OK, buddy?” he asked, glancing down at Cas's bare feet. 

“Thank you for asking, Dean, but I am doing much better now that we have escaped from Perdition. I only wish to get you – us – out of Purgatory as quickly as possible.”

“We'll try to make this quick, I promise. I've got a deadline.”

“I can't recall now, Dean. How did you say you managed to get into Hell?”

“I didn't say,” said Dean with a grin. “I made a totally stupid deal with a powerful being who's probably gonna end up screwing us.”

In reply, Cas's featured edged into an affectionate “I knew it” smile. 

Avoiding the wings, Dean draped an arm around his friend's shoulders. “Hey, we get us out of here, we'll get you some real boots. Not that crap you used to wear. About time you finished with that suit.”

“I liked the suit.” Cas appeared to consider this for a moment. “I liked the tie,” he corrected.

“You can keep the tie maybe. We'll take a four hour shower first, and get you cleaned up.” Dean paused. “Uh, I mean, I'll take a shower. And you will. Not together.”

Cas looked very confused at this. But then a very familiar voice called, “Dean Winchester.”

Dean stopped where he was and broke into a grin. “Leviathan?”

The Alpha Vampire offered a wry smile. “Yes.”

“Told you to keep the head far away from the body.”

“I should have heeded your warning. I cannot say that I am overly pleased to see you.”

“Does everybody know everybody else!” cried Jeremiah, who had obviously had enough of this crap.

Lenore whispered something to the Alpha. He nodded, but stared at Castiel. “So, this is an angel?”

“Did the feathers give it away?” asked Dean.

“The halo, actually. May I ask what an angel is doing in my realm?”

“For my sins,” said Cas, “which were manifold, I was consigned to eternal torment of perdition.”

“But I sprung him. Because that sucks,” Dean hurriedly put in. 

“He's an abomination here,” said Gordon. “And a target for the Levis.”

The Alpha rubbed his chin as everyone waited on him. “I have a request,” he finally said. “An exchange of favors, as it were. Is it possible we could talk someplace more … private?”

Dean glanced over at Cas. It was a rare encounter with the Alpha where someone didn't end up locked up and tortured. They were definitely risking a trap. On the other hand, he'd led them all the way here, and so far, the vampires had kept their distance. 

“All right.”

 

“Salt!” yelled Kevin.

“Salt!” cheered Crank.

“No, I mean give me the damn salt,” Kevin urged. Crank gestured to Knobs, who heaved a bag of rock salt their way, and Kevin ripped a hole in the bag and began drawing a line across the floor in their office in the Veil as some rather horrible bugs crawled their way.

“And this stops them?” inquired Crank.

“It seems quite unlikely, doesn’t it?” asked Knobs.

“You two,” said Kevin, leaning against the wall, panting, “are fucking useless.”

 

The Alpha led them to one of the buildings. Not, as Dean had expected, the largest one, but a small cabin. He whispered something to Lenore, and she hurried away. It was just the Alpha, Dean and Cas inside, the only light a small fire in the fireplace. Dean cast his eyes around the room. “Kind of a come down for you.”

The vampire indicated a chair. Dean sat down, but Cas remained standing, just behind him. Cas didn't trust the vampire, he knew. “Not as much as you might think. I find I am with my people – my family. I am no longer hunted. And it was good fortune that brought you my way I think, Dean Winchester.”

“Me? I'm not what anyone would consider good luck.”

“Every resident of Purgatory knows your story, Dean. You escaped through the portal.”

“That's right. Guess you know about it now, huh?”

“It won't work for us, though many have tried. I thought I could live here, contentedly. But we have a problem: the demons.”

“So those monsters we met on the way in, that wasn't a fluke?”

“On the contrary. It's becoming more and more common. More of a daily occurrence.”

“Hell has changed too,” Dean told him. “And there's some kind of crap happening back up topside too. We were looking into it when he got taken to Hell.” Dean glanced up at Cas, who seemed distracted by something. “Cas?”

“I am, as I was before, a beacon for the Leviathan,” said Cas. “For the safety of all, I must leave here as soon as possible.” He added a bit of a wing flap to that, which made it pretty damned impressive. 

“Your interests, as it happens, coincide with mine,” the Alpha told him. “I would like to send you on your way as swiftly as possible, Dean. And I would like to request your assistance. I know you have contacts in Hell. Both of you.” He held Cas's eyes for a long moment.

“Crowley … we did not part on the best of terms. I am not proud of my behavior. If I live many centuries, I will still carry with me the shame of that episode.”

“You were trying to hold off the damn apocalypse, all by yourself, Cas!” Dean protested. 

“Dean-”

“Look, Cas, no more with this beatin' yourself up crap.” Dean turned to the Alpha. “Besides, there was a coup in Hell. Maybe you guys didn't hear. Crowley was tossed out on his ass in favor of this gang of witches, let by his mom.”

For once, the Alpha appeared lost for words. “That is quite strange.”

“Yeah, it was fucked up. Anyway, what is it you want? You wanna get back, I take it?”

“No.”

Now Dean was the one stunned to silence. He glanced at Cas, who only scowled. “Come again?”

“Strange as it might sound to you, I believe I can make a sort of home here. For me, for my people. Purgatory was created as our sanctuary. But that is neither here nor there. We are under attack: not just from the Leviathan, but as you have found, there is this new challenge from Hell. We can withstand one, but I fear, not both. If you could spread this message to all concerned back on earth, and work to ameliorate this new evil, you would have my gratitude, and that of my children here.”

Dean had to chew over that for a while. “I can't really see a down side. Although I'm not sure about you being able to offer me a favor once I'm back.”

“No, but I can offer you safe passage to the portal. Or at least the next best thing. It's not far, but the way is perilous.”

“It wasn't so great way back when,” Dean sighed.

The door opened.

“Well I'll be god damned!”

“You probably will, Benny!” yelled Dean, rushing over to greet his friend. Benny stuck out a big paw to shake, but Dean brushed past and wrapped him in a big, back-slapping hug. “Damn it's good to see you.”

“I'd say the same to you, brother, but back for more? What the hell?” He picked up his hat and scratched his head. “And still draggin' that half-mad angel around I see.”

“Benny,” said Cas. He remained still, but his wings gave a little flap. Irritated? 

“Da-amn,” said Benny. “That is impressive.” Cas obligingly held out one wing, and Benny crossed his arms and stared. “Can you use those?”

“He can fly,” said Dean, with no little measure of pride. “And he can fight. And so can I.”

“You won't need to stand on your own,” said Lenore, who had been standing in the doorway. “We will accompany you.”

“Benny, I can't ask you-” Dean began.

“Go fuck yourself, brother,” said Benny with a smile.

“No,” said Cas. 

“Now, angel, you don't go castin' a wet blanket over this family reunion,” Benny told him.

“Not you, the girl,” said Cas, nodding towards Lenore. “I will not have her fall – twice – on my account.”

“I'm not gonna die,” Lenore told him. “And it wouldn't be on your account. I can take care of myself.”

“The girl ain't lying,” said Benny, who moved over and squeezed her hand. 

Dean looked back and forth between them. “Benny! Lenore, don't tell me you're with Mr. Smoothie here?”

If Lenore hadn't been a vampire she probably would have blushed. 

“We gotta get movin' and get Dean's ass to the portal,” said Benny.

“I agree.”

“You too, Cas,” said Dean. “Like I told you, no fucking around this time.”

“This time I promise I'll kick his ass through,” said Benny.

“How do you mean to do that, vampire?” asked Cas, who took a threatening step towards Benny.

“Oh, you don't wanna see me when I'm angry, angel,” retorted Benny, who leaned in as well.

“Hey, hey, enough with the testosterone crap!” said Lenore, shoving the both of them back. She crowded Cas and pointed at Benny. “Vampire or not, he's putting his ass on the line for you and your buddy, show him some respect. And you!” she continued, turning on a now chuckling Benny, “Don't be an asshole. I need my soldiers on alert, not fucking around.”

Benny raised his eyebrows and shot a questioning look at Dean. “You heard the lady,” said Dean. “I am so not getting into this.”

“You are wise, Dean Winchester,” said the Alpha, who had been quietly observing the group. “Now, I suggest we set off at once.”

 

“There's demons in the Veil?”

“Yeah, as if things didn't suck for us enough,” moped Kevin's ghost, who was wolfing down a ghost milkshake. The goddesses fortunately had a supply of Hell treats for him – he was the greediest ghost Sam had ever encountered.

“You need help?”

“I got them fixed up with salt. But I guess it's not just inside the game any more. There's more portals opening up.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, that's what I said. So,” Kevin looked around, “what's the deal with Dean?”

Sam rubbed his head. “We still don't know. Isis wants to bring him back, but there's a risk of him not coming back all the way?”

Kevin slurped. “Dude, that doesn't sound good.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Sam. “But Crowley's coming along. Isis and Nephthys are feeding him some kind of tea that seems to be helping the blood withdrawal. He recognizes us, and remembers stuff....”

“Hey, I got an idea! Maybe you could get the goddesses to turn him into a fly, and put him in a box, and mail him to yourself....”

Sam clucked his tongue. “Kevin, seen that film, no.”

Kevin grinned a ghost chocolately grin, and Sam heard the commotion from downstairs. “God dammit, Crowley.”

“Thought you said he was fixed?” Kevin sneered as Sam hurried down the corridor. 

“I'd like to 'fix' him,” Sam muttered. He was surprised to see Jody standing in the dungeon room, holding a tray of food and glaring furiously.

Crowley had Jody fixed in his gaze. “Begone, you fat git.”

Sam sucked in a breath. 

“I beg your pardon?” Jody retorted. 

“Jody,” soothed Sam.

“Seriously? That’s all you’ve got? The King of Hell? I’ve heard better insults from nine-year-olds. What a waste of space.” Sparing him one last glare, she turned and marched out of the room, shoving the tray into Sam's hands as a last gesture.

“Why is that woman here?” Crowley asked. “Moose, please! You must remember. You and I shared a moment.”

“ _You_ had a moment,” Sam sighed. Maybe he needed to persuade Jody to get home?

“Get her out of here.”

“Why? Because you think it'll be easier to escape if it's just me?” Sam regretted the statement as soon as it was out of his mouth.

“Ah! So that's it. Brother's abandoned you again? For good this time?”

“None of your business.”

Crowley scowled and looked around. “And what of your angelic pet? Fluttered off too?”

“Just, sit here and don't cause any trouble. I can put the cuffs back on, you know.” Sam thumped down the tray and turned to leave.

“Wait, Moose.”

“What?”

Crowley looped his arms around his legs. Though his color had returned, he still looked too thin. His expression was pleading. “Can you send her away? For me? I- I won't cause any trouble. I'll sign a contract. You know I won't violate a contract!”

That made Sam raise an eyebrow. “You really don't want Jody around? Why not?” Crowley, to Sam's alarm, looked vulnerable. “You don't want her seeing you, do you?”

“It's not that!” But it didn't sound convincing.

“Jody's seen worse. Well, I don't know if there is worse than you, but she's seen bad stuff. Now get some rest. Oh, and drink your damn tea!” And without waiting for a reply, Sam turned and left, being sure to shut and lock the door behind him. He glanced at his watch. Dammit, Dean was running out of time.

“I found it I found it I found it!” said Isis, who was suddenly in front of him. Despite being in the dark dungeons of the bunker, she was still wearing a big, floppy hat. This one had flowers on it. 

“Uh, you found … what exactly, Isis?”

“A spell! I thought I had misplaced it, but it was in your Men of Letters records. I believe we can call your brother back!”

“Uh, you just told me that was a bad idea?”

“No, it is a very good idea! Nef!” she shouted, making for the stairs.

Sam had a headache.

 

Dean was grateful for the escort to the portal, even if it meant he was surrounded by a bunch of monsters he'd usually be hunting. And Lenore took shit from nobody, so he felt safe enough, even if Cas was his usual paranoid self. So far, they hadn't encountered any Leviathan, but they had come across the black smoke, like before. Fortunately, Lenore and a couple of archers were there, so they made short work of the abominations as soon as they emerged. Cas especially fought with a special fury, and now that Dean had been supplied with some weapons (an axe and a bone knife) he got in his share of demon killing.

Once they assured themselves the demons were vanquished, they hurried along. Dean found himself walking alongside his old friend. “Benny, this is gonna sound nuts, but you seem happy here.”

“It's because I am, brother.” Benny smiled, and Dean had to admit, his blue eyes were dancing.

“You old smoothie,” Dean teased.

“Now, it's ain't just Lenore, though she's one in a million.” Benny looked up ahead and grinned wide. Lenore was talking to Cas about something. “It's good to be here. We think we can build something decent, and we don't have to worry about hurtin' folks no more. No more craving! You can't believe how nice it is to live in contentment.”

“Yeah, I can't say as I know that feeling.”

“But you! How the Hell did you end up here, dragging featherbed along?”

“A long story. I think it might be related to your demon problem. We were chasing something nasty, but the trouble is, we didn't know how nasty. It got Cas.”

“So you went on after him. Bein' as you're one dumb motherfucker.”

“He's my friend, Benny. Like you.”

“Friend, huh?”

“What?”

“Dean!”

Dean froze at Cas's voice, dreading what the next word would be. He and Benny looked up: Cas didn't even need to say it.

Leviathan.

Cas was suddenly gripping his shoulder. “I'll lead them away, Dean. Run!”

Dean's brain was still processing when the wings flashed, and Cas was flying away. “What? Cas!” he screamed. “Cas, no!”

But Lenore had him by one arm and Benny the other, and he was being bumrushed away. “No, wait! No!” They dragged him up over a ridge, and paused to watch the familiar traces of the Leviathan veering off to follow the angel.

“They'll kill him! We've got to help him!” Dean pleaded.

“Gordon!” said Benny. Dean tried to focus. A small group of men, led by Gordon Walker, was now approaching them. “What the Hell are you doing out here?”

“We gotta go help Cas. We've got enough people. Please.”

Gordon smiled, and stepped forward. Weapons were raised, but pointed at Lenore and her troops.

And then his knife was at Dean's throat. 

“You and me, we got some old business to attend to,” hissed Gordon.

 

Sam really hated to be in Dean's room these days. But Isis had claimed the more the better. It was sort of like a séance, he guessed, only … not?

God, he hated his life some time.

Dean's body was laid out on the bed, like he'd been for the past couple days, unmoving. He'd insisted that they move him around, like you would a coma patient, even though the sisters claimed you didn't need to worry about that, he wasn't in a coma. And now he had stuff drawn on his forehead, and there were joss sticks (Sam wasn't sure they were required, it might have just been Nephthys's thing) and bowls of stuff and a book open.

Jody didn't look convinced about the whole thing, but was playing along. Sam had to hand it to her, she was a trooper. “You doin' all right, Jody?”

“I'll feel a lot better when I wring Crowley's neck. Calling me fat. Demon asshole.”

“All right,” said Sam. Seriously, what was his life?

After fussing around, Isis finally asked for everyone to join hands. Sam gratefully joined the semicircle around his brother. This was cool. Dean would be back from Hell, and together they could get Crowley to figure out what the hell was going on in Hell. Because, Hell.

Isis began her enchantment, speaking softly, rhythmically. Sam was holding Jody’s callused hand on one side, Isis’s soft hand on the other. He closed his eyes and listened, lost in his own thoughts. What was the language? Sam didn’t recognize it. He probably should have asked first. It was dumb, but there were demon junkies and crazy goddesses and holes in reality everywhere and he just wanted his big brother back, was that too much to ask? 

Sam shifted and half-opened an eye. His chest had begun to burn. Was this part of the ritual? Everyone else had eyes closed, and Isis was still chanting. Dean still looked the same.

No, something was burning on his chest. Jeez, was Sam having a heart attack? That wasn’t possible: he went jogging and ate salads. What the hell? He shifted again, and now Jody had cracked open an eye to peek at him. Dammit, it was like there was a little cigarette ash burning right on his breastbone. 

Jody’s eyes came open as he wriggled around. “Shh,” she whispered

“Dammit!” Sam muttered. Now Nephthys was looking at him too. Isis, off in her own little world, was still chanting.

“Crowley!” said Jody.

Sam whirled around. How had the demon gotten out of his devil’s trap? He was off to the side, casting his hands upwards.

“Dammit, Crowley!” said Sam, dropping the hands around him. He moved towards the demon, but his chest burned.

And, shit, his shirt was on fire.

Oh, shit! It was the ring. Mr. Tran’s ring!

Isis continued chanting, Crowley’s voice now joining hers, as the light in the room dimmed, and the ground seemed to shift. 

Sam grabbed the chain around his neck. He wrenched it out. The ring was glowing red hot.

The lights went out.

In the darkness, the ground quaked. Jody was thrown into Sam. He caught her, but the ring clattered to the floor.

There was a whoosh, and a crackle of energy.

And then … silence.

Sam heard a hum, and the lights came up. He lurched over to the bed, watching his brother, searching for any sign of life. But Dean remained lying on the bed, still and silent. 

“Isis, what did you do?” asked Nephthys. Sam heard the words, as if they were off in the distance.

“Uh,” said Isis. “I didn’t do that.”

“Sam?” said Jody softly, touching his shoulder.

Sam whirled around. Over in the corner, standing over the ring….

“Oops,” said Crowley. “My bad.”

 

“Gordon, dammit, like the song says, let it go!” said Dean.

Gordon jammed the knife against Dean’s throat. “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

“Are you guys fucking crazy?” asked Benny. “He’s gonna help us!”

“He’s going nowhere,” said Gordon.

“Is someone gonna fill us in on what’s going on?” asked Jeremiah, who was always two steps behind.

“Gordon’s a douche,” said Dean.

“Well, I knew that!” said Jeremiah, who obviously wasn’t completely stupid.

“Gordon, the rest of you, lay off!” commanded Lenore. A couple of the guys holding up weapons actually backed off a little.

“He’s a hunter!” said Gordon. “He deserves to die.”

“You were a hunter, idiot,” said Dean.

“Wait, you were?” asked Jeremiah.

“He and his brother set off the apocalypse!” said Gordon.

“Well, I guess that’s pretty serious,” said Jeremiah. “Did you do it on purpose?”

“Of course not!” said Dean.

“It wasn’t on purpose, Gordon,” Jeremiah told him.

“Will someone kill that asshole?” Gordon asked.

Suddenly, there was a humming overhead.

“You dumb bastards!” shouted Benny. “You brought Leviathan down on us!”

Gordon stared upwards. And then suddenly his eyes burst into flame. He gasped and collapsed, Cas now standing over him, glaring.

Cas looked around, wings arched up. “Anyone else?” he growled.

Weapons dropped.

Dean grinned, mixed gratitude and relief to see his friend. “Cas, how did you-”

Cas turned back to look Dean in the eye. “Last time I was among the Leviathan, I wanted to die. This time, I wanted to live.”

“All right, all right!” said Benny. “Let’s quit lollygagging and get up to the portal. It’s just over that ridge. I don’t want no more Leviathan, or demons, or whatever the hell got into you people.” The vampires who had been with Gordon shuffled their feet and looked ashamed of themselves.

Dean smiled wide and hastened after Benny. Soon they were in sight of a very familiar hill. He stopped to give Benny a big hug, as well as Lenore, and then ran up the ridge, Cas just behind him. “Together this time, right?” Dean asked him.

Just outside the portal, Cas stopped and gripped Dean's shoulder. “Dean, one thing before we go.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, thanks, blah blah blah. Well, stuff it, Cas. You're coming with me this time.”

“Not that.” Cas was holding Dean's face in his hands. “Dean,” he said. “Before we step into the void, I would have you know this: I love you.”

Before Dean could reply, Cas grabbed him, wrapping arms and wings around him, and leapt into the vortex.

 

Sam heard the clatter of footsteps coming down the steps into the bunker. He ran to the entryway. 

Linda Tran was halfway down the staircase, clinging to the bannister.

“Linda!” He ran up, taking two steps at a time, and put an arm around her. “You OK?”

“Where is he?”

“Mom?”

And then Linda was down the steps, and into the arms of her son. She couldn't speak. “Hey, hey, Mom? It's OK. It's OK, I'm here.”

“Oh, my boy,” she finally sobbed. She pulled back.

“Uh, I brought the cats?” said Wendy, who was perched up on the top step, one cat in her arms, the other on her shoulder.

“Cats!” shouted Nephthys, who Sam had never seen so excited. She bustled up the steps and the shoulder cat leapt into her arms. “You brought us cats!”

“Yes I did!” said Wendy.

Isis came into the room, looking worried. “Icey, look, cats!” sang Nephthys.

“It's Dean,” said Isis. 

And once again, Sam took off running.

 

Dean dropped from an infinite height and slammed to the ground. He gasped. He must have broken every bone in his body.

He jerked up.

There were a lot of people standing around, staring at him. The stare continued for a long, uncomfortable moment. Sam stepped forward, grabbing him tightly. “Dean? Are you back?”

“Sam!” 

“Dean?” Dean was wrapped up in the tightest hug. “Dean!” Sam was crying, and Dean was crying. The two goddesses were there looking stunned. Mrs. Tran was there looking stunned. Kevin was there – wait, what the fuck?

“Kevin?”

Kevin shrugged. 

“Kevin!” Dean launched off the bed and wrapped his arms around the kid. “God dammit! What happened?”

“You weren't back!” said Sam. “And then you were!”

“Why is he here?” asked Dean, pointing at Crowley, who waved half-heartedly. 

“There was nothing interesting on telly,” snarked Crowley.

“Dean, what happened?” asked Sam. “Where's Cas?”

“He was with me! He should be with me. Cas? Hey, Cas!” Dean actually spun around, hoping to hear that distinctive whisper of wings. “Cas? He was with me, I swear.”

“Do you think....” But Sam couldn't seem to complete the rest of his statement. 

“I'm sure he made it! He was with me. He was holding me. He said....” And now it was Dean's turn to trail off. Wait, had he really said that? “God dammit, Cas! Get your feathery ass down here, right god damn now!”

But the only answer was an empty silence.


	5. Sammy Smokes a Marlboro

Choking.

He was choking.

Dirt pressing everywhere. And his poor, ruined vessel. 

_Dean, I'm sorry._

Time to accept fate. Too weak. Ragged wings. No grace. No breath.

Time to accept the earth.

But then there was another voice; another prayer. Faint but true.

A memory hit, a flash. Not his memory, no. Not his own. A girl, battered and blonde, buried under the earth. A film – a borrowed memory, not even his own.

He needed to follow the voice. The voice.

He grabbed his shirt, pulling it out of his waistband, straining, pulling it up, up, over his head. There. Some space. He could breathe.

A moment. Let his human heartbeat settle.

And then, slowly, painfully, he began to dig.

 

“The apocalypse? Again? Seriously?”

Dean sat at the dining room table while various people bustled around the Men of Letters kitchen, throwing together dinner. The excellent goddess Nephthys had decided that the solution to everything was a very big meal. Sam had decided to sit down with his brother for some good Scotch and a debriefing.

But mostly Scotch.

“And since when do we have cats?” asked Dean as a tabby rubbed up against his leg and then bounced into his lap.

“Uh, that’s pretty recent.”

“They haven’t been in the car have they? No cats in the car!” Dean sneezed, and the cat looked affronted.

“No, no cats in the car, Dean.”

Dean appeared mollified, but Sam poured him out another finger of Scotch. “And Crowley is human?”

Sam had to think that one over. What was Crowley, anyway? Other than a pox upon the entire world? Finally, he shrugged. “Well, human enough to walk out of a devil’s trap, evidently.”

“You have him call his mommy?”

“Uh, not yet. Like I said, things have been a little hectic.”

“Time is money, Sammy. And money is power.”

“And power is pizza!” chimed in Kevin from the kitchen. 

“What … does that even mean?” asked Sam, feeling a sudden chill that went clear to his bones.

Dean shrugged. “I dunno, but it sounds cool.”

Sam recalled, for some reason, Isis's remark about Dean coming back “wrong.” Although, frankly, what was “right” for Dean Winchester? Ugh.

The bunker's front door opened and Jody came clattering down the steps, the goth girl trailing after her. “We got some of the stuff, but they didn't have the flour you asked for, Nef.”

“You'd probably need a health food store at this longitude,” sighed Isis.

A cat hopped up on Jody's shoulder. “Yeah, and we got something for you, too,” she assured the feline.

“Did you get the lard for my pie crust?” inquired Crowley, who was wiping his hands on his apron. The apron had a pattern of cheery, anthropomorphized cupcakes.

“Yeah, yeah, we got your lard.” She plopped down a grocery bag and extracted a rectangular package, which she lobbed at the demon. 

“You're letting him make the pie?” asked Dean as Jody and Crowley walked towards the kitchen. “What is he even doing here?”

“I told you, Dean.” Sam wasn't sure what to do, but Dean took in a breath and then it came out in a shudder. Sam leaned over and put a hand on his big brother's shoulder. “Dean, if I haven't told you, it's really good having you back, man.”

“I fucked up, Sammy.” It was barely even a whisper.

Well, no question what that was about. “Dean, have you tried praying to him?”

“Every second since I've been back. God dammit, Cas.” Dean abruptly stood up, swaying a little. “I'm gonna see what they're up to in my kitchen. I bet Crowley's poisoning the goddam pie.” He turned and stormed off.

Sam lingered a while at the table. _Hurray for another touching Winchester discussion of feelings!_ He noticed Jody's cigarettes. He grabbed the pack. He went up the stairs to the front entrance, and stepped outside, enjoying the fresh air. And then he lit a cigarette. “What am I even doing?” he laughed. He stood and smoked for a while, letting the nicotine quicken his heartbeat and calm his nerves.

Sam stared up at the darkening sky. “Hey, Cas? I don't know if you can hear me, buddy. He needs you. He really does. Just, wherever you are, get your ass back here. And soon.”

He threw the cigarette butt down, crushed the small glow out beneath a rough work boot, and went back inside.

 

Alive.

He was alive.

“I want to live,” he whispered. He laughed, but his body spasmed in a cough. And then he rolled to his side and vomited up blood and dirt.

He was lying on his belly, on the ground, next to the hole he'd dug. Dirty and bedraggled. He struggled up to his hands and knees. 

And then he heard it.

The voice. The one he hadn't heard, not for 2,000 years. 

“Is it you?”

They sky darkened. Something was coming.

 

Isis had cooked enough to feed a small army, but there was currently a small army residing inside of the bunker, so a whole lot of it got eaten. Sam ate and drank, and Dean was even tempted to try Crowley's version of apple pie, after Crowley assured everyone that the recipe was most certainly not one of his mom's. The goth girl drank a bit much and was flirting with Kevin, who also drank a bit much and started flirting back. Linda just sat back and drank – Sam couldn't ever remember seeing her quite so happy, like she didn't have a care in the world. As an added dose of weird, Jody and Crowley sat at opposite ends of the table and tried not to appear as if they were sneaking glances at one another all night. Isis kept putting out more food until Nephthys told her they'd never get everything cleaned up, which Dean seemed to appreciate. Dean always was a little compulsive about that kitchen.

They all stayed up way too late, talking and playing this dumb game the goth girl had brought called “Cards Against Humanity.” It was actually pretty fun. And they listened now and again to news reports on the radio. Texas was flooding – well, wasn’t Texas always flooding? There had been a tsunami in Asia. Well, that area always got hit, didn’t it? Venice was under water – it was supposed to be under water. It was Venice, dammit!

And as for the Arctic melting, well, couldn’t the damn polar bears learn to swim already? And Sam had to tell Dean it wasn’t _that_ Arctic, it was the one with the penguins. And Dean was wondering why the hell there were two Arctics, it was just bad planning.

People got tired and stupid and there were yawns, but for some reason, nobody would be the first to go to bed. Here they were, all sleepy and a little drunk and together and alive.

And then, at precisely 3 am, the lights all went out.

 _Shit, meet fan_ , thought Sam.

After a startled pause, Jody asked, “Do you guys have a generator?”

The Winchesters were already on their feet, as were the sisters.

As was Crowley. “It's not the bloody generator,” said the demon. 

“Crowley,” said Sam.

The demon raised his hands. “It's not me.”

“It's something bigger,” said Isis. 

Crowley harrumphed, but then the lights snapped on and began to fizzle out, one by one, showering down glass and sparks. The goth girl yelped, and Sam hopped over to cover her. “Dean?” he said.

As if in a trance, Dean was walking towards the stairs - towards the entrance. “Dean, what are you doing?” Sam shouted after his brother. The ground trembled, and more lights popped and shattered. Outside the wind rushed, and something began rattling the windows. Linda put her hands to her ears and moaned as the pressure dropped.

“Dean!” said Sam. Dean was now at the foot of the stair, gazing upwards, a moth pulled to a flame. “Dean get back!” screamed Sam just as something rattled.

The door exploded. Light burst into the room. Sam was on the floor under the table, holding Wendy. He checked around: Kevin and Mrs. Tran had dragged each other down, and Crowley had somehow gotten all the way across the room to throw himself over Jody. “Go!” Crowley now yelled at Sam.

Sam crawled out from the table and threw a hand in front of his eyes – the light was blinding. He recognized the form of his brother, still standing at the base of the staircase. “Dean!”

And now there was someone – or something – coming down the stairs. Something huge. Something that shouldn't have fit through the narrow doorway. As it descended, it coalesced, shrinking down and solidifying, turning from a being of light and power and thunder and lightning and grace into something that looked like a man.

A man wearing a trench coat.

“Cas?” whispered Sam. 

Dean stood there, transfixed. Castiel stepped off the last bottom step, too close to Dean, each of them standing, drawn to the other. The angel extended a hand and touched Dean's face, cupping his jaw, gazing in wonder.

Dean leaned forward, closed his eyes, and – as Sam held his breath – kissed Cas very gently on the lips.

“Uh,” said Sam, as he couldn't think of anything else in particular. And then, “Ahem.”

Dean had pulled back, but was still staring at Cas. “You're late.”

“My apologies. My vessel was damaged. I had to dig my way out.”

“We should have gone to the grave!” said Dean. “Cas, I'm so sorry.”

Cas touched two fingers to Dean's face. Then he turned to his brother. “Sam, I heard your prayer.” Cas strode forward and embraced a very flustered Sam. “Thank you.”

“Uh, no problem,” said Sam.”

“You burnt out the bloody electrical system,” Crowley groused as he awkwardly put some distance between himself and Jody.

Cas pointed upwards, and the lights came up. And then he stepped over and hugged a terribly sheepish Crowley. He pulled back, tilting his head. “You're human.”

“Sort of,” Crowley grumbled.

“Sheriff Mills?” Cas asked, extending a hand. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“You're the angel guy?” 

“Castiel. Although Dean prefers to call me Cas.”

“That's an angel?” asked the goth girl, who was now clinging to one of the cats. 

“He’s definitely an angel, dear,” Isis told her. 

“Yes,” Cas repeated kindly. “I am an angel.”

“Where are your wings?”

Cas shot a glance at Dean, who grinned. Cas smiled back. 

The lights dimmed once again. Cas shrugged, and raised a pair of rather magnificent black shadow wings, wrought of faith and glory.

“Holy shit,” cried Wendy.

“Show off,” grumbled Crowley.

“OK, you’re the angel guy,” said Jody when the show was over. “Also, I get a hug.” Cas embraced her. “Ooo, he smells really nice too!” said Jody.

“Hey, back off the angel,” said Dean, though he was smiling. “Hey Cas, your wings are back?”

Cas smiled. “Yes. I find myself renewed. And improved.” He turned to the goddesses, and gave a short bow. “Lady Isis, Lady Nephthys.” The cat in Wendy’s arms leapt over to stand on his shoulder.

“He’s polite at least, not like those last few angels,” sniffed Nephthys.

“And the cats like him,” said Isis approvingly.

“And he is not alone,” said Nephthys. 

Crowley perked up as well. “Angel, you contain multitudes.”

“Yes. Once I ascertained that I was able to pass through the portal to Purgatory, I returned for a brief visit, to gather some friends.” He pulled up the sleeve of his coat. His arm was crawling with marks that somewhat resembled tattoos, but for the fact that they glowed and writhed around.

“Benny?” asked Dean. “Is he there?”

Cas pointed a finger to a mark. “I do not know what we will face, but I thought we could use as many allies as possible for the coming trial.”

Sam gazed around the room. Linda and Kevin were no longer around.

 

The white corridors stretched to the horizon.

But he had time. They all had time.

“You think that's it?” Bobby Singer asked his namesake, pointing to the sign that said simply, _“Office/Oficina.”_ It had an arrow pointing on down the hallway.

Roberto Singer nodded. A bunch of them were visiting, and all had the same idea, so they hatched a plan. A group of them lit out, into the white corridor, to see if they could get ahold of the management hereabouts. 

The whiskey wasn't being delivered, was all Bobby Singer (the original one) knew.

“Hey, look here!” said a grey-haired Robert Singer. He was usually in a foul mood. Bobby liked him. 

They had managed to actually turn a corner, and quite abruptly found themselves in an area that tended to more grey and beige than white. It resembled a typical business office, such as one would see on earth, right down to the beeping fax machine and smell of stale microwave popcorn. But for one tiny detail: it was completely empty of workers.

Though it was not completely empty of sentient beings.

“How the hell did a cat get up here?” asked Bobby as a yellow tabby leapt onto his shoulder.

 

Sam was outside the bunker, smoking a cigarette.

He jumped. Quite suddenly, his big brother was beside him. “You smoke? Since when?”

“I don’t know,” grumbled Sam. “Since you. And Cas.”

Dean grinned and waved for the cigarette. 

“It’s just a Marlboro,” Sam explained, but Dean grabbed it and puffed away anyway. 

“You don’t wanna share feelings, I hope.”

“God no,” said Sam, grasping for the cigarette. “It’s just … weird. I’m weirded out. I mean, you and Cas? Cas and you? What the hell?”

“Weirded out or not, smoking’s bad for you, Sammy. You don’t need your big brother to tell you that.”

“Oh, thanks, Mr. Cholesterol.”

“Just sayin’” said Dean, who stuck the cigarette back in his mouth. He looked so fucking jaunty. _Smug bastard._

“Dean, gimme back my smoke.”

“Shouldn’t you be out jogging? And eating fair trade yogurt?”

“Gimme back my smoke!”

They grappled for a bit, but then Dean handed it over, and Sam inhaled. They were quiet for a long moment, Sam agitated, Dean calm as a cat. Sam waited for the nicotine to work.

“He said the ‘L’ word,” Dean confided. 

And then Dean was crushing out the butt with the toe of a boot, because Sam had spat it out onto the ground. “Sammy, you don’t wanna start a fire here. The grass is pretty dry.” Dean leaned over and gave Sam a couple of pats on the back, as his brother was choking. 

“Jerk,” Sam managed to croak. Unfortunately, further discussion was derailed by the appearance of two men walking towards the bunker, both toting battered guitar cases.

“Sid!” said Dean as soon as he recognized him. 

“Dean, dude! It is most excellent to see you have returned to this plane of existence, and in great health,” the bodhisattva told him as he returned the hug.

“Cas is back too,” Dean told him. “Hope you didn’t go out of your way to come here?”

“We hitched out thanks to a most righteous Kansas farmer dude. Sam, my salutations, most excellent of brothers.”

“Hi, Sid.”

Sid indicated the Bob Marley-looking dude who had walked up with him. “And may I present, my main man? This is The Naz.”

“Jah love,” said The Naz, giving a hang loose gesture. 

“Uh, same to you,” said Dean. Sam sincerely hoped he wasn't gonna ask the guy if he was holding. 

“I am seeking the angel, Castiel,” said The Naz. His voice was low and lovely, almost musical. “For I have salutations to bring him.”

“Cas is off running an errand,” Dean volunteered. What he'd actually done was flown off to find a couple of vampire bodies, but Dean didn't go into that bit. Sid was cool, but Sam wasn’t quite sure how cool he’d be with things the Winchesters considered standard. “But you guys can come on inside. Coming, Sammy?”

“I need a smoke,” Sam grumbled, fishing for more of Jody’s cigarettes. 

“You might try this,” The Naz volunteered. He pulled out a baggie. Sam held it up. It was a ziploc bag filled with fragrant dried leaves. “It is a soothing herb tea, my brother.”

“Uh, maybe later?” said Sam.

The Naz smiled mysteriously and followed Dean and Sid into the bunker. Sam pulled out yet another cigarette. Meanwhile, the little goth girl, Wendy, came out of the bunker and nodded hi to the guys. She had a cat on her shoulders. 

She sat down on the railing next to Sam for a moment while he lit up his cigarette. 

“Getting some fresh air?” asked Sam.

“Nephthys keeps following me around with that antibacterial spray.”

Sam snorted and leaned back against the railing.

“She’s a death goddess?” the girl asked.

“Yeah, and her sister is the life goddess.”

“OCD much?”

Sam smiled and nodded. The goddess of death wasn’t exactly what you might call goth. He wondered if she even owned any clothing that wasn’t in some shade of pastel?

“And the dude with the posh accent is the devil? And the sad looking guy is an angel?”

“Yeah, Cas is an angel.” And he's in love with my brother. _My so-called, fucked up life._

“And he and your brother…?”

“No fucking clue,” Sam admitted. He tried a different tack. “So, you like Kevin?”

“Oh my god is it that obvious?” she wailed, startling the cat, which leapt to the ground and gave a tiny snort of annoyance.

“Not _too_ obvious,” Sam assured her. “You know his last career was as a prophet of the Lord, right?”

“Is everybody around here just … weird?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Sam inhaled. The cigarette actually wasn’t very good. Why the hell was he smoking, even? He dropped it and stomped it out, turning to Wendy. “Look, there’s something you should know. Hanging with Kevin, or with any of us – it’s not always a great thing for people like you.”

“Oh? People like me? What am I like?”

“Normal.”

“I’m not normal! Look at me!” She held up her hands.

“You wear black nail polish.” Sam waved at the bunker. “Some of those guys in there are hundreds of years old. Cas is probably millions. And a few of us have set off a couple of apocalypses. Not to mention brought down bad stuff on people we loved. And didn’t mean to.”

She was standing up with arms crossed now. “Kevin came back! And your brother. And the angel guy. See?”

“No I don’t really see.”

But now she was a portrait of teen annoyance. She stalked back into the bunker, and after a pause to shoot Sam a dirty look, the cat hastened after her.

“Stupid cat,” grumbled Sam. “You know, you’re not a god! You’re just a cat.” The cat disappeared in the door. “Besides, I’m a dog person,” Sam added.

A telltale flapping sound whisked across the plains, and Cas was standing there, alongside Benny the vampire.

“Hey, Cas! I’m not used to you doing that anymore,” said Sam.

“You’re not used to it?” grinned Benny. “Try flyin’ with this maniac.”

“I am an expert flyer,” Cas sniffed, clearly offended.

“I’m kiddin’ ya, angel. Get the holy stick outta your ass.”

“I was not aware of a foreign object in my rectum.”

“I don’t wanna hear about no angel rectums.”

“You brought it up, vampire.”

“Can we … not?” Sam pleaded as Cas and Benny stared each other down. “Cas, Dean is inside. You remember, my brother, the one you’re always staring at? Oh, and some guy who said he needed to talk to you.”

This caused Cas to squint harder for a brief moment. “Someone wishes to speak to me?”

“Sid brought him.”

“Sid? Oh! The Blessed One!” Cas turned and marched double-time into the bunker, but the vampire lingered outside, a questioning look on his face.

“And what are you doin’, little brother?” asked Benny.

“Out getting a smoke.”

“I don’t see no cigarette.”

“Keep getting interrupted,” said Sam, staring at the pack.

“Those thing’ll kill you. And I know, bein’ dead and all.”

Sam shrugged, decided he was being, as Bobby used to say, a idjit, and turned to go inside. 

“That girl,” said Benny.

Sam stopped. “What girl?” 

“The little girl you was talkin’ with when we set down? All dressed in black?”

Sam smiled. “Yeah, she goes by Wendy. Or Wednesday? She came with Mrs. Tran and the cats.”

“Something smells … _off_ about her blood.”

That gave pause. “Off like how?”

“You know, I ain’t even sure. But I suspect she ain’t 100% human.”

Well, that was about par for the course. And here he’d just got in trouble telling her she was normal! “Wanna come in?” Sam accompanied Benny inside, pondering the goth girl. 

They found Cas inside. He was kneeling on the floor, head bowed low, in front of The Naz.

“Arise, my child. Fear not,” said The Naz mildly. 

Cas finally looked up. There were tears in his eyes.

“What’s going on?” Sam whispered to Dean, who wore a baffled expression. 

“You boys didn’t never read your bible?” Benny tutted as Cas, trembling, rose to his feet, The Naz’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Did you … summon me?” Cas asked as he stood. “Did you restore my grace?”

“Yes, my son, and not for the first time,” The Naz sighed. “The world is beset by tribulations! And our Father is off, alas, cooling his heels.”

“I am not worthy.”

“The world on fire, I must have my burning one. Now, what have you found out regarding the present trials and tribulations?”

“Dudael! Someone has opened the door.”

Quite suddenly, The Naz didn’t look so mellow. “The Seven Stars. Can this be true?” He glanced over at Sid.

Sid shrugged. “The Seven. That was before my time, O my excellent brother.”

“I thought my Father had banished them to the depths. We must needs inquire of an archangel.”

“Wait. Aren’t you holy dudes fresh out of archangels?” Dean asked.

The Naz snapped his fingers, and suddenly the Archangel Gabriel was standing in the middle of the bunker. He was dressed in swim trunks, and holding a tiki drink with a little umbrella sticking out of it, and had zinc oxide covering his nose. He blinked, seeming a little stunned, and then scowled over his Ray Bans at Castiel.

“Cas, what do you think you’re doing, bro? I was hanging with a couple of honeys-“

Cas didn’t reply, but instead pointed over Gabe’s shoulder.

Gabe arched an eyebrow, turned around and spotted The Naz. “Ulp!” He quickly but clumsily hid the tiki drink behind his back. “Uh, what’s happenin’? Hey, Son dude! How’s the Father and the Holy Spirit?”

“Gabriel, it is a time of tribulation,” said The Naz.

“I’ll say,” said Gabriel, brushing sand off his butt. “I was gettin' a tan!”

“It is said the Seven are freed from Dudael.”

Glass tinkled as Gabriel’s drink shattered on the bunker’s hard cement floor. “Uh.” He stared at the broken glass and distractedly snapped his fingers, once, twice, but the spilled drink lay there, drowning in shards of glass. “Shit.”

“Gabriel,” said The Naz, “as you know, there is a limit to what I can do in this situation. Please, my beloved, offer what assistance you can.”

“Uh, yeah, right dude.”

And then The Naz and Sid simply weren’t in the room any longer. Sam looked around, but there hadn’t been any clue, no whiff of sulphur, no whisper on wings, no indication that it all hadn’t been a dream.

Gabriel remained kneeling down on floor, trying to pick up the pieces of his broken glass. “Brother,” said Castiel softly, crouching down beside him. “We will require your assistance.”

“I can’t get it back together again, Cas,” whispered Gabe.

Cas waved a hand over the mess. There was a soft glow, and the glass reassembled, complete with paper umbrella. 

Dean walked over beside the two angels. “Cas, someone gonna catch us up on what’s going on? Who was that, and what the hell are we up against this time? And what's a Dudael?” Cas offered a hand, and helped Gabriel to his feet. The archangel was ashen-faced. 

“You goombahs haven’t faced anything like the Seven before,” said Gabriel, who seemed to recover himself. “You know the story, right Cas?”

Cas let his head list to the side. “I did not know them.” 

Gabriel’s face was written in confusion. “But you were there, kiddo!”

“I do not recall. I know only what is told in rumor and innuendo.”

“The rumors? It's all true. These guys were the Grigori, the Watchers. The fallen.”

Dean puffed out his chest “The fallen? You mean like your big brother Luci? There's more where that came from?”

“Yeah there's more. After the business with Luci and Mike, Daddy didn't want much to do with humans, so he created the Watcher angels and sent them down to keep an eye on things. But they started to go native. Started to party with the local women.”

“Oh, like someone we know?” asked Sam.

“Hey! Don't be snotty, Moose. I'll give you antlers! Anyway, they got into a mean girls-style throwdown with Daddy's new favorite prophet, some little whack job named Enoch. Long story short, he won and they lost.”

“So they all got their asses sent to Hell?” asked Benny

“Not just Hell, Fangs! The deepest pit inside the deepest pit. And then they threw away the key.”

“If there's a key...” Sam began.

“Don't say it,” his brother quickly put in, much to Sam's annoyance. “We gotta talk to Crowley. See what happened with the key.”

“Crowley? That douche?” asked Gabriel.

“Wait, you know him?”

“How you guys think I got into the witness protection program? We've all made deals with crossroad demons, am I right?”

Dean and Cas exchanged what was, even for them, a rather heated look, and then the group – which now consisted of the brothers Sam and Dean, the angels Castiel and Gabriel, and the vampire Benny trailing behind them – headed towards the dungeon where Crowley had been confined. 

Of course, Crowley wasn't there. “Why isn't he in his pen? Don't tell me you lost him!” said Gabe.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered, just for completeness's sake. “Where did he go?” Gabriel snapped his fingers and changed into Sherlock Holmes garb, complete with a Deerstalker hat and unnecessarily large magnifying glass. He began to poke around the room. 

“Hey, Jody,” Dean said as Jody poked her head in. “You know where the demon's gone to?”

“Why would _I _know?” Jody snapped.__

__“Uh, because you're here looking for him?”_ _

__“I have no idea,” said Jody, who stomped away._ _

__Dean gave her retreating figure a _“not getting into that”_ look. “Aha!” said Gabriel, who was now pawing underneath Crowley's bunk. “Why does he have this instead of porn?” He held up a bloody IV bag._ _

__“Dammit,” said Sam. “I thought we dried him out.”_ _

__“This guy a demon or a vamp?” asked Benny, who sniffed curiously at the bag. “Mm, AB positive. Recent vintage.”_ _

__“Demon,” said Dean. “Believe it or not, this doof was the king of Hell.”_ _

__“And he's got the cravin'?” asked Benny, holding up the bag._ _

__“He was injecting human blood,” Sam explained. “It's a long story.”_ _

__“Well, I know one place a blood junkie's gonna go.”_ _

__“Elementary, my dear Watson!” said Gabriel, now blowing soap bubbles through a pipe. “Uhhhh, where would that be?”_ _

__Cas nodded to Benny, and then touched his forehead, and they both disappeared to the whisper of wings. A moment later, they reappeared, Benny now holding Crowley by the scruff of his neck._ _

__“Unhand me, you unnatural creature!”_ _

__“Look who's talkin', sulphur-breath,” grumbled Benny, letting Crowley drop to the mattress._ _

__“The blood bank,” said Cas, dropping a handful of paper-wrapped syringes down beside Crowley._ _

__“Whoa, this is the king of Hell?” asked Gabriel, crouching down for a better look._ _

__“What are you supposed to be?” Crowley asked, shielding his eyes. “Oh, snakes and ladders, it's _you_.”_ _

__Gabriel giddily threw a _“Tah-dah!”_ gesture at being recognized and waggled his eyebrows. _ _

__“Crowley, seriously,” Sam lectured. “You gotta stay away from the human plasma.”_ _

__“Why? It's not as if I have anywhere to be. What's my purpose?”_ _

__Dean sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “Your angst ain't our business. But your mommy let the Seven Stars out of their hole. You need to get her on the phone and ask where she put the key.”_ _

__Crowley's entire manner suddenly shifted. “The Seven? No. You're mad!”_ _

__“Wish they were, Devil Boy,” said Gabriel, who had dropped down to sit beside him. “We've got it from an incontrovertible source.”_ _

__“What source? Not you! You are nothing but controvertible! You _reek_ of controvertibility.”_ _

__“The Son was here. While you were out snorting red corpuscles.”_ _

__“The Son?” And then Crowley did something horrible: he began to cry._ _

__“Aw, now now,” said Gabriel, who began pulling a seemingly endless line of multi-colored hankies from a sleeve._ _

__“Oh, what did you guys do to him now?” asked Jody, who had evidently not stalked quite all the way off. She crossed into the room and sat on Crowley's other side, dabbing his eyes with one or two of Gabe's hankies._ _

__“We didn't do anything!” Dean protested._ _

__“You must have done _something!”__ _

__“He's just being a big baby!”_ _

__Crowley looked up and flashed the world's most pathetic expression. “Oh, come on!” said Dean. “He's a _demon_ , Jody.”_ _

__“Is he always this persnickety?” asked Benny._ _

__“He excels at it,” griped Cas._ _

__“All of you! Out!” shouted Jody. “You too, Bubbles,” she told Gabriel, who was still smoking his bubble pipe. “Go … go watch basketball or something.”_ _

__The men (including Gabriel) shuffled out into the corridor. They shrugged, and began walking back upstairs, where they encountered Isis and Nephthys bustling down the stairs, towards Crowley’s room._ _

__“Is that every damn female in this place?” asked Benny._ _

__“That's Crowley,” sighed Sam._ _

__“Is it basketball season now?” Benny asked. “What year is it?”_ _

__“Yeah, it's b-ball season,” said Sam, a bit wistfully._ _

__Gabriel was suddenly between Sam and Benny, gripping their shoulders. “As it happens, I might just have a little inside deal on some courtside tickets.”_ _

__“For March Madness?” asked Sam. “Hey, even _you_ couldn't pull that off.”_ _

__“Wanna bet?”_ _

__Dean lingered in back of the pack, as did Cas. They both stopped. Dean nodded, and Cas followed him down the corridor, away from the rest of the men._ _

__“We haven't really had time to talk. I mean, since you've been back,” said Dean quietly._ _

__“I needed to reunite Benny's soul with his body, Dean. I made a promise to him.”_ _

__“Yeah, I understand,” muttered Dean, popping open the door to his room and ushering Cas inside._ _

__“We will need to locate Lenore. As well as the other vampires.”_ _

__“Uh-huh.” Dean closed the door, pushed Cas up against it, and commenced with making out. Cas, for his part, didn't offer any objection._ _

__“Can I point out,” Cas said, when at last they parted, lips now somewhat swollen, “there has been very little conversation?'_ _

__“You caught me,” said Dean, hooking fingers in Cas's belt loops and backing up towards the bed, pulling the angel along with him. He sat down on the bed and pulled Cas between his legs where they resumed kissing for a moment._ _

__“I should not have this desire for you. I am an angel,” said Cas, looking down on Dean, holding his face ever so gently in his hands._ _

__“Coulda shoulda woulda,” said Dean. “But you do. Right?”_ _

__Castiel grew thoughtful. “This was their sin. The Watchers. They thirsted for human lovers.”_ _

__Weary of discussion, Dean tugged on Cas's tie. Cas sat down, straddling Dean's lap, and they kissed some more, Dean now scrabbling at shirt buttons, tugging off clothes to reach skin._ _

__“Dean?”_ _

__“No more theology,” said Dean, who had worked his way down to pressing lips to Cas's bare neck._ _

__“I- I haven't engaged in sexual relations with a male before.”_ _

__“I have.”_ _

__“Oh.”_ _

__“Steep learning curve.”_ _

__“Dean?”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“This doesn't matter? That I am in a male vessel? I do not have a gender, but I thought it mattered to humans.”_ _

__Dean lay back on the bed with a sigh. “Now, of all times, is when you choose to get chatty?”_ _

__“Am I making a mistake?”_ _

__“Cas, talk to a minimum. Except 'Yes' or 'No.' Understand?”_ _

__Cas's face traced in a smile. “Yes?”_ _

__Dean gave a tug, and the coat and jacket and most of the shirt came off._ _

__The tie stayed on. Cas put a hand to the knot, but Dean covered it with his own hand._ _

__“No.”_ _

__“No?”_ _

__“Leave the tie on.”_ _

__Cas's eyebrows shot up. But then he shrugged, and let Dean yank him down by the tie._ _

__

__“But, what about the cats?”_ _

__Wendy stood at the dining room table, petting the fluffy white cat, while the yellow tabby cat sat on her shoulders. Kevin was sitting down, scribbling out a note while Linda hovered anxiously nearby. “Isis told me she’d look out for them. And it’s not gonna be a good life for them, on the road.”_ _

__“What about for us?”_ _

__“Wendy, like I told you, don’t feel obligated to come along.”_ _

__“She’s got a point, mom,” said Kevin. “We don’t know what’s gonna happen, and this bunker is warded against almost everything.”_ _

__“Yeah, almost. What happened to you last time you were here? We need to get you far away from the Winchesters. They’ve got that demon living here! And an angel. Remember, you were the one who warned me against them!”_ _

__“The demon is Crowley. He’s a jerk, but he’s pretty harmless. And I thought you said you remember Cas?”_ _

__“He’s not what I remember. He was sick. Now he’s…. He’s got those wings. And that attitude. And besides, why are you defending him? I thought you said he acted like a bastard to you?”_ _

__Kevin did that infuriating eyeroll-shrug thing and went back to writing his note._ _

__“I don't even think we should be leaving them a note,” Linda told him. “They'll probably enchant it somehow and find out where we are.”_ _

__“We don't want them to think we've been abducted by demons or something,” said Kevin, chewing the end of his pen. “They'll waste time looking for us.”_ _

__“Aren't they professionals?” asked Wendy. “I mean with fighting monsters and stuff?”_ _

__“They're bad luck,” Linda insisted. “We need to put some distance between them and us before we get caught up in their bullshit again.”_ _

__“They brought me back,” said Kevin. “I figure we're even.”_ _

__“Kevin, we talked about this! You don't want to come?”_ _

__“Geez, I'll come with you, Mom. Just let me finish this, OK?” He looked over at the goth girl. “You coming along, Wednesday?”_ _

__She froze. “What did you call me?”_ _

__To his mother's annoyance, Kevin put down the pen once again. “Wednesday, right? That's what you like to go by?”_ _

__Her entire face lit up with the smile. “Wednesday. Yeah. I mean, I'm coming.”_ _

__“Cool.” Kevin scribbled another couple lines and then signed his name. “All right, let's get outta here.”_ _

__

__“Weren't we just talking about the Nephilim?”_ _

__Cas glanced at his brother, who had just appeared in Dean's room wearing a KU Jayhawks T-shirt and carrying a pompom. Cas shifted his eyes to gaze over Dean's sleeping form. The hunter's face was relaxed and composed: lovely._ _

__He looked back at Gabriel and pressed a finger to his lips. Gabe nodded and, thankfully, disappeared._ _

__Moving as quietly as possible, Cas slipped out from under the covers, dug into the scattering of clothing on the floor, and pulled on some pants. As it happened, they weren't _his_ pants, but they would do. And then he tiptoed out the door, quietly shutting it behind him. As it happened, he had never gotten around to removing his tie, so it hung, somewhat disheveled, around his bare neck._ _

__Gabe was already out in the hallway, idly waving the pompom. “Rock, chalk, Jayhawk!” he chanted. “So, what's the deal with our king of Hell? The ladies dab his sniffly nose and all?”_ _

__Cas shook his head, leaning back against the wall. “I don't know. I've been … otherwise occupied.”_ _

__“You guys missed our male bonding session.”_ _

__“We did some bonding.” Cas ventured a half smile._ _

__“You realize if he breaks your heart, I'm gonna have to turn him into a warthog.”_ _

__Cas's eyes narrowed to their customary scowl. “Why are you suddenly acting protective?”_ _

__“C'mon Cas! You know I clown around, but you were always my favorite.”_ _

__“No, I wasn't.”_ _

__“Don't you remember when you were a fledgling?”_ _

__“All too well.” Cas crossed his arms as the scowl slipped into a full glower._ _

__“OK, maybe you should forget that....”_ _

__“Gabe, get this!” said Sam, who had just rounded the corner and walked up to them. He was also wearing a KU T-shirt. And he had a couple kernels of popcorn stuck in his long hair. He halted and stared at Cas._ _

__“Sam,” Cas began._ _

__“Those- Those are Dean's pants.”_ _

__Cas looked down. “Yes, these are Dean's trousers. I didn't want to-”_ _

__“You're standing outside my brother's room, naked, wearing Dean's pants.”_ _

__Cas balked at the Winchester logic. “How can I be naked if I'm wearing pants?”_ _

__“Sammy's having a minor freak out,” Gabe supplied. “Dude,” he told Sam, “just tell your brother to be good to my bro if he doesn't want himself turned inside-out.”_ _

__Sam rounded on Gabriel. “What? What about _your_ brother, Gabe! Maybe he needs to stop disappearing with tablets. And breaking people's walls! And- and pretending he's God?”_ _

__“Hey someone had to step up and take Daddy's chair. The bastard cheesed out on us!”_ _

__“You guys' daddy issues are not my problem.”_ _

__The door popped open, and Dean poked his head out. “Hey, Cas!”_ _

__“Dean, I'm sorry if we disturbed you,” said Cas, throwing a scowl at Gabe and Sam._ _

__Dean smiled. “We weren't done yet.”_ _

__“We weren't?” Cas looked utterly confused. “I thought-”_ _

__“Nope!” Dean grabbed the tie and yanked Cas inside the room, shutting the door with a rather enthusiastic thump, leaving Sam and Gabriel alone out in the corridor._ _

__They were silent for a long moment._ _

__Inside the room, the bed began to creak._ _

__“I can't deal with this,” said Sam._ _

__“I could fill the bed with whipped cream,” Gabe proposed._ _

__“Please don't.”_ _

__At just that moment, Benny bustled into view. “Oh, there you two are!” he said. He was also wearing a KU T-shirt. “The goddesses say that our little blood-lovin' demon is ready to make a phone call.” He looked back and forth between Sam and Gabe. “Why are y'll lollygagging here?”_ _

__From somewhere within Dean's room, the bed gave a loud squeak._ _

__Benny took a step towards the room, banging a big fist on the door. “Hey, you two, keep it down in there. We got demons tryin' to sleep!”_ _

__“Fuck you!” came Dean's voice._ _

__Benny laughed. “All right you two, come along or stand here creepin', ain't no mind to me!” he said, ambling away. Gabe shrugged and followed, and then so did Sam._ _

__They found Crowley hunched over a scrying bowl at the dining room table, sitting between the goddesses. He didn't look to be in a good mood. “I'm getting damned busy signal,” he fussed. “This is ridiculous!”_ _

__“Same thing that happened to us,” said Isis._ _

__“You say this is a private line?” asked Nephthys, who was organizing an array of Tupperware containers. “I really don't hold with witches. Too sloppy!”_ _

__“My mum is a manipulative bint. But one thing, she was never sloppy. Not when there's power to be had.” He pushed the bowl away with a look of distaste. “I need a more powerful spell. Where is Castiel? We need ingredients.”_ _

__“Baby bro is otherwise occupied pounding the hunter,” said Gabriel. Sam's looked dismayed. “What? All right, maybe your bro is the one doing the pounding.”_ _

__“Gabriel, does the concept of too much information even register with you?” asked Sam._ _

__“I don't wanna get all judge-y about their lifestyle choices. Even if they're bizarre.”_ _

__“Good god,” said Crowley, looking between Sam and Gabriel. “Is that what has happened? And here I am, too vexed by withdrawal symptoms to really enjoy this.”_ _

__“The first step is to admit that you're powerless over your cravin's,” said Benny._ _

__“I'm bloody well not powerless. And the Creator has left the building, so you will have to eliminate that step.”_ _

__Isis reached over, placed one chubby hand atop of Crowley's cranium and yanked his face around towards her. “Hello! Goddess here!” she said in a mocking tone, making a circle of her face._ _

__“And we're fairly vengeful!” Nephthys piped up._ _

__“Oh yes.”_ _

__“Although less so than their Father.”_ _

__Isis waved a finger at Crowley. “Now, you listen to your sponsor. He's such a nice boy.”_ _

__“Nice boy?” cried Crowley. “He's a bloody vampire.”_ _

__“With a certain southern charm,” said Benny, smiling like the bloodsucker that ate the canary._ _

__“I shall prepare a list. Gabriel?”_ _

__“What?” Gabriel had conjured up some Good 'n Plentys, and was lobbing them up in the air and catching them in his mouth. Well, mostly catching them._ _

__“Can you control your ADD for the moments it will take to gather my ingredients? That is, in case you wish to preserve the universe from the wrath of the Seven Stars?”_ _

__“You're a regular boy scout, Crowley,” said Sam. He leaned forward and picked up an envelope that was lying in the middle of the table. “What is this?”_ _

__“It was left on the table, dear,” said Isis._ _

__Sam took him a moment to decipher the scribbled handwriting, but it was addressed to himself and Dean. He opened the envelope. and read it over, and then read Kevin's note over again._ _

__“Do you need something to eat, dear?” Isis asked Sam. “You're looking peaked.”_ _

__

__In the middle of the night, someone came creeping into the kitchen on quiet angel feet. Cas hitched up his jeans, which were actually Dean's, peered into the fridge and extracted a couple of bottles. He set them on the counter and rummaged in the drawers for an opener._ _

__“Hey,” said Dean, who had just come up behind him. He melted his body to Cas's back, wrapping arms around his waist, pressing his lips to the angel's neck._ _

__“Dean?”_ _

__“I better be,” Dean mumbled into Cas's neck._ _

__“I was just getting us beer. You like beer, correct?” He proffered an open bottle to Dean._ _

__“You are perfect,” said Dean, who left off rubbing his thumbs on Cas's hipbones to snatch a brew. “Mm, I guess I was getting a little thirsty. They have any grub in here?” He now opened the fridge, staring appraisingly at the shelves. He grabbed a tupperware container and peeked inside. “Damn! The goddesses have been cooking again.” Dean grabbed a fork out of a drawer and sampled. “Oh, god, this is amazing.” He put some on a fork and waved it in front of Cas's mouth. Cas puzzled over it for a moment, but then opened his mouth to accept the morsel._ _

__“I am sorry. We must have missed dinnertime,” said Cas as he chewed._ _

__Dean stuck the container in the microwave and set the timer. “We were making good use of the time I'd say.” He grabbed Cas by the waist and guided him to sit up on the counter, and then crowded between his legs, kissing him._ _

__“Did I leave again prematurely?” Cas asked when at long last the microwave beeped and they came up for air. “I guess I'm not conversant as to when a sexual act is completed. Was this because we lacked a fireplace?”_ _

__Dean paused. “What?”_ _

__“I have knowledge of many human films. During moments of intimacy, the camera will often pan to a fireplace.”_ _

__Dean laughed. “Cas? Never change.”_ _

__“But I-”_ _

__“It's done when we say so. Hey, is that my Zep shirt?”_ _

__Cas held out the T-shirt he was wearing to stare at the logo. “Led Zeppelin? It appears to be misspelled!”_ _

__“No, dude, it's a band...” Dean stopped when he saw the edge of Cas's mouth flicker. “You're fucking with me, aren't you?”_ _

__“Not currently. We are in a public area.”_ _

__The microwaved dinged, and Dean grabbed a potholder and pulled the casserole out. “You are totally fucking with me!”_ _

__The squeaking rolling suitcase wheels announced Jody Mills' entry. “Hey, put that on a plate!” she ordered Dean._ _

__Obediently (as she was utilizing her mom voice) Dean went to the cupboard to fish out a plate. “What's with the luggage, Sheriff?”_ _

__“Oh. I've probably been here for too long now. I came along so Sam would have some company, but seems like it's getting a little crowded. I figured it was about time for me to head back.”_ _

__“In the middle of the night?”_ _

__“Does this have something to do with your relationship with Crowley?” asked Cas._ _

__“There is no relationship!” Jody barked._ _

__Cas continued as if he hadn't heard her. “I was briefly engaged in a partnership with the demon, and found him to be vexing.”_ _

__Jody's eyebrows shot up. “Wait, partners, like...?”_ _

__Dean put a hand on Cas's shoulder. “He means partners like they were in on a deal.”_ _

__“Oh.”_ _

__“Not in the way that Dean and I are partners!” Cas explained. “There was no physical relationship, although I did once grab him by the neck and threaten to stab him.”_ _

__Jody stood for a bit, mouth agape, just letting this new information buffer. “That, um, yeah,” was what she finally came up with as Dean settled himself at the table._ _

__Dean pushed out the chair next to him. “Come on. Cough it up.”_ _

__Jody searched his face, and then looked over at Cas, who smiled at her. She steeled herself, and then sat down with a determined thump. “Don't spread this around, OK? I was doing some blind dates. This is before Alex came to live with me?”_ _

__“Hey, good for you. I've done that too!”_ _

__“Wait, really?” Jody tilted her head. “I thought you just winked and girls appeared?”_ _

__Dean's gaze drifted up from his food to Cas, who was still sitting on the counter, looking curious. “I was being an idiot. I'm good at that.”_ _

__“Well, me too. Anyway, I was set up with this really charming guy....”_ _

__Dean took a sip of beer, and then spat out the beer and began choking. Cas flew off the counter to slap Dean's back. “Wait, you were with Crowley because you were … _on a date?”__ _

__“You think I would have gone if I'd known?”_ _

__Dean leaned forward. “Seriously, what was his profile like?”_ _

__“Dean, don't be a jerk!”_ _

__“I am a jerk. But, Jody, please tell me you're not still into the guy. I mean, not really?”_ _

__Jody threw up her hands and rolled her eyes heaven-ward. “I thought there was a spark! And it's been a while.”_ _

__“But Crowley? You can do better! You deserve better than that loser.”_ _

__“I know. I know. I've read all the fucking self-help books.”_ _

__Cas was sitting down next to Jody, eyes boring into her. “Sometimes, the ways of the human heart may be elusive.”_ _

__“Does he always stare like that?” Jody asked Dean._ _

__“Yep! Hey, look, Jody. I appreciate what you did. You really came through for my brother when he was here all on his own. So whatever you wanna do. You wanna leave, great? You wanna bring Alex down for a few days, that's great too.”_ _

__“Bring my kid?” Jody chewed on that for a while. “Don't know if I want her within 50 miles of the demon. But it might help to give her a break.”_ _

__The familiar beat of wings sounded, and the archangel Gabriel appeared in the middle of the kitchen, covered from head to toe in something that looked like whipped cream._ _

__Dean leaned over and took a sample. “Wow, is that pineapple flavor?”_ _

__“Oh, thank my Dad you guys are around. I need a favor.”_ _

__“Gabriel, what is going on?” asked Cas._ _

__“Long story, little bro. We're still working on the spell to get Crowley hooked up with Mommy Dearest, and it's been a disaster. Disaster is an understatement.”_ _

__“You’re not trying to contact her from the bunker any more?” asked Dean._ _

__“Uh, no. Mount Ararat. The goddesses thought it would be a better locale.”_ _

__“Yes, that makes sense,” said Cas. Dean shrugged at Jody._ _

__Gabriel looked about as serious as it was possible for Gabriel to look. “Guys, I think it's time to go up the chain and get more info on the Seven Stars. I think we need to powwow with our big sis.”_ _

__A smile spread across Castiel’s face. “I haven't spoken to Raziel for a while. In fact, I'm not sure where she's currently located.”_ _

__“No problemo, I have their unlisted number.”_ _

__“You've consulted her, then?”_ _

__“Uhhhh,” explained Gabriel. “See, it shouldn't be _me_ going to her, because of that thing with that thing.”_ _

__Crowley suddenly appeared in the kitchen. His hair was on fire._ _

__“Crowley, is your hair on fire?” asked Jody._ _

__“Yes, my hair is in fact on fire. Gabriel?”_ _

__“Yeah yeah yeah. Just explaining. Stuff about stuff.”_ _

__“Explaining … what?” asked Dean._ _

__“Thanks for this, little bro,” said Gabriel, snapping his fingers. “And give Raz my regards!”_ _

__But Dean, Cas and Jody were already gone._ _

__“Where did you send them?” asked Crowley._ _

__“Don't worry. They'll survive. Probably.” Then he snapped his fingers, and he and Crowley disappeared._ _

__The dining room was empty._ _

__Except for the cat._ _

__

__“So I ganked the suckers with a demon bomb!”_ _

__“A demon bomb?”_ _

__“Yeah, a demon bomb,” said Kevin, who leaned over and poured himself another shot._ _

__They were on the road, 100 miles from somewhere, and 200 miles to somewhere else, at a little motel off the old highway. They had been keeping off the interstates, instead wandering their way along through the backroads. And trying to keep clear of places with flooding. Or demon activity. Or any of the other various disasters that were becoming all too common these days._ _

__They didn't have any wifi out here, and had looked at Kevin funny when he'd bothered to ask. So Linda had fallen asleep watching TV, and she and Kevin were sitting out at an old fiberglass picnic table under the one tree, sharing a bottle and looking at the endless stars._ _

__Kevin was pretty cute, especially now that he was somehow back alive and real and breathing, but Wendy had already picked up that he drank too much. But unlike certain other people in her life, he didn't seem like a mean drunk. And he wasn't exactly cranky, either. More like … disappointed?_ _

__“So I holed up with Channing for a while-”_ _

__“Channing is?”_ _

__“High school girlfriend.”_ _

__“Oh.” Wendy wasn't quite sure what she thought of that._ _

__“She was going to college. Her safety school, which kinda sucks. But then Crowley killed her.”_ _

__“She's … dead?” Well, that ended that line of thought. But it brought up another, much more troubling._ _

__“Broke her neck. Snap!” Kevin distractedly demonstrated with his own head whipping around. “What a jerk.”_ _

__“Uh, yeah. Is that why Sam and Dean don't like him?”_ _

__Kevin leaned over and poured himself another. How many was that? And why was she keeping track? “Oh, he's murdered plenty of people. He killed Sam's ex-girlfriend, and he was gonna kill Jody.”_ _

__“Sheriff Mills?”_ _

__“Yeah, yeah. Strange and weird, huh?”_ _

__Wendy was configuring an answer when Kevin's phone buzzed. “Aw, goddam it.” He picked it up and stared blearily at the screen. He put it down and hit the speaker. “Knobs? That you, dude?”_ _

___“Oh, Kevin! My word, we've been quite worried!”_ came the tinny, British-accented voice._ _

__“They're from the Veil,” Kevin told Wendy._ _

__“Uh, the Veil? You mean the afterlife?”_ _

__Kevin nodded. “Sorry I haven't called, man. Been kinda busy. My mom is here.”_ _

___“Oh, kindly convey our warmest greetings to Mrs. Tran.”_ _ _

__“Yeah. And also, uh, I'm alive again?”_ _

__The phone was silent for a moment. _“Quite.”__ _

___“Cheers,”_ came another voice._ _

__“Sooo, what were you dudes calling about?”_ _

___“So sorry to interrupt you, Kevin, but there's a spot of bother.”_ _ _

__“What?”_ _

___“Well, it appears there's another of those frightful doors.”_ _ _

__“Oh, you got more demons up there?”_ _

___“No, rather, it's something else.”_ _ _


	6. The Tale of Sariel, the Fallen Angel

“What the fuck?” said Jody. She was hunched over, hands braced on knees, and looked more than a little green around the gills.

“Think we were shanghaied by an archangel,” said Dean, because that was a thing that happened in his life. They were standing in the middle of a room that had been crowded with rack upon rack of weird clothing. Dean pulled out an outfit, and held it up this way and that. “Is this a dress? Or what?”

Cas poked his head out into the corridor, where several very well groomed but oddly-dressed people where hurrying back and forth. He pulled one of them aside and carried on a whispered conversation. “I believe I know why we are here,” he told Dean and Jody as the person sauntered off.

“You see a ladies room out there, Cas?” Jody moaned. She was still hunched over from the effects of the flight. “I think I’m gonna hurl.”

Cas gently placed a hand on Jody's back. There was a glow, and she stood up. “Oh, all right. Whew. Whatever you did, thanks. You're better than Pepto Bismol.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” said Cas.

A short woman with dark hair wearing clothing in several different shades of black and ridiculously high heels appeared in the doorway. She propped dark sunglasses up atop her head and gave them an appraising glance. Her eyes at last fixed on the angel. “Castiel? Is that you, little brother?”

“Raziel.”

“My darling, it's been too long!” she cooed, stepping in and yanking him down to give him air kisses. 

“May I introduce my good friend, Dean Winchester,” said Cas when she released him from her grip.

“And aren't you just darling?” asked Raziel, grabbing Dean down for Continental air kisses.

“And Jody Mills.”

“My dear, I adore your look. Uniform chic!” gushed Raziel, taking both of Jody’s hands in hers.

“Uh, this is actually my uniform,” said Jody.

Raziel’s dark eyes grew wide. “Really? Oh how lovely! And are you a law enforcement official? Such a fabulous career choice for a woman! We simply must speak about it some time,” she added, patting Jody's hands. She turned to Cas. “I'm so sorry, little brother, I would love to catch up with you and your little friends but this is such a bad time. I have backstage passes to the Galliano show!”

“Unfortunately, it is a matter of life and death.”

Raziel heaved a sigh. “They haven't scheduled the apocalypse for Fashion Week have they? How rude!”

“Our brother Gabriel thought we should-“

“Gabriel!” And now the dark eyes turned distinctly stormy, and Dean was sure the room trembled a little bit. “How dare he, after what he did! That incomprehensible little nit! He’s trying to prank my Fashion Week, isn’t he?”

Dean had to crack a smile. “Yeah, Gabe can be a jerk. He once killed me 500 times in a day just to make a point.”

“500 times?” asked Raziel, raising one meticulously plucked eyebrow.

“Yeah, a different way every time.”

Raziel appeared to calm down. “Well, you have to give him some props for creativity I suppose.”

“So you're an archangel?” asked Dean.

She shrugged. “Former. I left the company some time back.”

“My sister was the scribe of god before Metatron took the position,” Cas told them, and there was a distinct note of pride in his voice.

“Metatron! That little weasel,” said Raziel, arching an eyebrow at the mention of Metatron’s name as she thumbed an oversized smart phone. “I've heard rumors that he's back in Heaven.”

“He was jailed, upon my order.”

“Pfft! You didn’t just stab him in the face when you had the chance?” 

“This has to do with Metatron, Raziel. He was imprisoned for his crimes, which included locking off Heaven, and expelling all the angels. We had succeeded in getting access again, but there remain many human souls trapped in the Veil. Apparently this has caused some kind of time-space rift.”

“Sounds very much like that cute British show the kids like. Dr. Which? Dr. What?”

“We believe it has unleashed the Seven.”

Raziel stood for a moment, mouth open, eyes wide. But then she crossed her arms and shook her head. “Castiel, you are a dear thing, but that’s utterly impossible! Daddy was so mad. He tucked them into the deepest pit, and threw away the key. They’re really not coming back from anything that silly little Metatron could conjure up.”

“There have been signs…”

Raziel heaved a sigh. “Let’s walk and talk. I may have to tweak your wardrobe choices just a tad bit so you'll fit in.” She snapped her fingers, and suddenly Dean and Cas were wearing suits, and Jody let out a gasp when she looked down to appraise her outfit. “You really should become familiar with your inseam measurement, little brother,” Raziel scolded Cas, poking him in the stomach. “Are you content with your selection, Officer Mills?”

“Uh, it’s Sheriff Mills,” Jody muttered as she pulled on the fabric.

“My apologies, _Sheriff Mills_. It’s cut on the bias,” Raziel told her, fingering the cloth. “And look! Pockets!”

“Can- I don’t suppose- Is there any way I could keep this dress after this is all over?” Jody stuttered. It’s really cute.”

Raziel’s face lit up with pure fashion triumph. “Why of course my dear! It’s just a darling little thing from the sample shop, but it suits your coloring so well. Now come along. I need to take _copious_ notes on this year’s fall ready to wear line.” She linked elbows with Jody and escorted her out of the room. Dean and Cas lingered for a moment while Dean adjusted Cas's tie for him. 

“There you go.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean was not looking at the tie. “Dude, you look, you know, _good_.”

Castiel glanced down at himself, plucking at his jacket with curiosity. “I don't understand. This is a suit. I was wearing another suit.” 

“Yeah, but this one fits. Shows off your assets.”

As if in answer, a young man and woman walked by, both glanced at Cas, and then looked at each other. The guy mouthed, _“Hot.”_

“See?” said Dean. And then he whispered, “It’ll look good coming off.”

Cas didn't really see, but Dean slung an arm over his shoulder as they walked, and this pleased him. The physical relationship with Dean was quite new to him, and Castiel realized that he had much to learn about human interactions. However, his understanding was that physical contact in this communal space was something termed a PDA, which the goddesses had told him was a positive sign in a relationship.

They arrived in a large space that was bustling with activity, centering around people who were apparently runway models. Raziel appeared to know everyone, and Castiel, to his utter embarrassment, had to deal with a couple of people who insisted on knowing who he was modeling for. “Just throw out a Blue Steel,” Dean advised him.

“A what?”

Dean formed his features into a very strange pout, which Cas attempted to emulate. Raziel meanwhile was greeting a gorgeous woman in a wheelchair while several hair and makeup people buzzed around them. 

“Is she a model?” asked Jody when they were out of earshot.

“Oh, yes, she’s a dear. You don’t have to walk to own the runway!”

“She owns this location?” asked Cas.

“You haven’t changed in a millennium, have you, dear?” she asked Cas, smiling, but then quite suddenly her face fell and her eyes unfocused.

“Do you sense that?” Cas asked as he too looked off in the distance. 

“Cas, with me. You two, stay here,” Raz ordered, and then went running off, rather improbably fast for someone wearing heels that high, Cas hastening after her. 

“Stay here?” said Dean. “Aw hell no!” and then he headed off as well. Jody nodded and ran after him, as quickly as she could in her dress and heels. She discovered to her relief that her sidearm was packed into one of the pockets, which was pretty cool. Cute dresses never have pockets! Dean was dragging a knife out of a pocket of his designer jacket. 

They hit the street to the smell of sulphur. Dean recognized the angry black clouds roiling around the building. “Fuck, just like Purgatory!” he swore.

“What happened in Purgatory?” asked Jody.

“Nothing good.”

Raziel and Cas were poised at the edge, wielding angel blades. “Dean! Get those people back!” Cas yelled.

“Civilians,” Dean told Jody. They split up and began herding knots of well-dressed onlookers back out of range. People stood stupidly and took iPhone photos for a few moments, but then there were gasps of horror, and people began to run. Dean wheeled around and saw what was emerging from the haze. One of them looked like a big, gooey spider, and there was another that resembled a giant centipede. Raziel and Castiel were slashing and smiting left and right. 

“You take crowd control,” Dean yelled at Jody, “I’m gonna go help out.” 

Most all of the onlookers had put away their Twitter feeds and were fleeing down the street. “Yeah, fuck that,” Jody muttered. She knew a little about the supernatural, and wasn’t sure whether bullets were going to do much in this case, but at the very least they’d be a distraction. She aimed for the head of the spider thing, and got off a good shot, but then stumbled on the cobblestone street. She bent down and kicked off her high heels.

“Jody!” hollered Cas. 

She whirled around to something leering over her shoulder. She whacked it right in the eye with her heel. It squealed, and Cas stabbed it with his angel blade. It sparked from the sword, and then turned to vapor.

More repulsive monsters were oozing out of the thick black haze, more quickly than the small party could deal with them. “Castiel, cover them!” Raziel ordered as her dark eyes began to glow blue with grace. There was a rustle of wings, and both Jody and Dean were wrapped up in something that felt soft and warm as a comforter. Raziel shouted something in Enochian, the syllables echoing off the cobblestones.

Something bright and hot passed by, expanding waves of power.

The street fell quiet. 

The world reappeared, Cas shrugging his shoulders, as if tucking something back in.

“You good, Jody?” asked Dean, hand on her shoulder.

Jody scowled at her shoe. There was demon goo on the heel. “I think I ruined my pumps.”

“Ah, everything men do, backwards in heels,” said Raziel, who tapped the shoe with a finger and effected a repair. Everybody looked around. There was no more trace of the black smoke, nor the demons.

“Did we get ‘em all?” asked Dean.

Cas stood silent for a moment, listening. “I believe so.”

“Is this what you were talking about?” asked Raziel.

“Yeah” Dean told her. “It’s been happening in the Veil, and in Purgatory.”

Raziel rolled her eyes. “My dear, whatever were you doing in Purgatory? Don’t you know there are Leviathan there?”

“Long story.”

Raziel snorted in frustration. “Damn Enoch's wretched little hide. I have a mind to storm Heaven to chat with him. He’s ruining Fashion Week!”

“Enoch?” said Dean. “Who's Enoch?” He looked over to Cas, who simply shook his head.

“Metatron?” asked Raziel. “But you were there!” Cas appeared completely baffled. “You don't remember Enoch's ascension?”

“There is much I don't remember, Raziel. My mind has been … reprogrammed at several instances.”

Raziel put a hand to Cas’s face. “Oh, you poor dear. Spending too much time in Naomi's office?”

“Naomi is dead.”

Raziel huffed and put her hands on her hips. “Well, that's just like her, isn't it? So you really don't remember the story of Enoch and the Seven Stars?”

“That sounds like a kid’s story,” said Jody.

Raziel stood on the street, tapping her foot for a long moment. “We need to talk to our brother. We need to talk to Sariel.”

And then, they weren't in the street any more.

 

_“Baby, we've got bad blood,”_ sang Gabriel as he appeared along with Benny on the side of Mount Ararat.

“Never cared for Taylor Swift,” grumbled Crowley, who was huddled on a rock, clutching his coat about him, while the goddesses puttered around, setting up various pots with magical herbs and whatnot.

“Who don't like Taylor Swift?” said Benny, who handed over several packets of blood. “She's one fine little gal!”

“That one probably doesn't like Beyonce,” snorted Gabriel. “Where's Moose?”

“Off sending text messages to the Squirrel,” Crowley muttered as he opened a pint of blood and poured it into a scrying bowl. He pointed in the direction Sam had gone and Gabriel wandered off.

Benny sat down next to the demon. “You're an idiot, you know,” Benny told Crowley. 

“What?”

“I counted them blood bags before I gave 'em to you.”

Crowley glowered at him, brought a bag out where he’d hidden it in his jacket, and let it plop down on a rock next to the others. “You expect me to believe you don't crave it any more?”

“I got somethin' else – the love of a good woman.”

Crowley stopped and dramatically rolled his eyes. “Oh, spare me.”

Benny looked around. “She likes you, you know,” he whispered.

“She doesn't. She couldn't.”

“Not saying there's sense in it. But people don't always know what's good for 'em. I'm only saying, you got one hungry look about you.”

Crowley glared. Sam wandered back, holding up his cell phone. “Hey, I've got four bars!” 

“This particular location is above a gate to Hell. We had cell towers installed,” Crowley told him. 

“You didn't just use the blood trick?”

“Bloody hell no!” Crowley held up a bloody hand. “It gets your fingers sticky. We had to modernize. Well, when I was running things,” he finished, muttering his thoughts into the scrying bowl.

“I just got a text from Kevin. He needs us to contact the Veil.”

“And what am I, the bloody telephone company now?” Crowley wiped his hands on a handkerchief, which he then caused to disappear.

“We’re supposed to call a couple of his buddies there. A gate is opening up.”

“Another bloody Hell gate? Damn my mother and her significant lack of organizational skills.”

“No, it’s-“

“We’re ready,” Isis announced. She, Nephthys (and her omnipresent bottle of antibacterial solution) and Gabe were now hovering nearby. “Benny says that we have some good blood now!”

“The best!” said Benny.

“I’m not even gonna ask about that,” sighed Sam. “I can’t seem to get through to Dean though. I wonder what the hell he’s gotten into?”

“He’s got an angel watchin’ over him, I wouldn’t worry,” said Benny.

“That’s actually what I’m worried about,” said Sam. 

“Silence!” bellowed Crowley. Sam wouldn’t have thought he was capable of bellowing these days, but the demon gazed fiercely around him, and it was almost like the old days. Various herbs were set afire, there were sparks, and then Crowley was bent over a bowl, dabbing fingertips into the fresh blood there. “Mother? Where in blazes are you? Don’t bump me to voicemail!”

_“Fergus?”_

At first, Sam was convinced he was imagining it, the voice was so soft and far away, like the whispering of the wind between branches.

“Mum! I’ve been trying to get you on the phone,” Crowley stormed.

_“Fergus. Me bairn.”_ No, it was a voice. But it didn’t sound much like the arrogant Scots witch Sam had met before. It was so faint, like a soft song.

“None of your false sentimentality, woman,” Crowley countered. “We need to know what’s going on with the Seven.”

_“…couldn’t stop them.”_

“Stop who?”

_“They want…”_ And then the tremulous voice hushed to a whisper.

“Want what? Mum! Speak up.”

“What was that?” Sam asked. He hunched closer to Crowley, even though the voice seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at all. 

_“Prophet,”_ she whispered. It was barely a breath. “ _…want the prophet.”_

“Wait, how do they know about Kevin?” asked Sam, who was shushed by Crowley.

“Mum? You’re fading.”

_“…the prophet…”_

A molecule, vibrating in an empty sea of air. And then it was gone.

“Mum? Mum?”

The shriek pierced the air, a mob of damned souls, breaking the air with their last howls, stirring the earth. Sam was thrown to the ground, huddling, covering his ears. 

Silence.

Sam pushed himself up, noticing the red blood on his fingertips. He dabbed at his ringing ears. Bleeding. He sat up, head throbbing, and looked around. Crowley sat still holding his hands up, red staining his clothing, the shattered remnants of the scrying bowl scattered around him. Benny, who had made it to his feet, held out a big hand to help Isis up.

Nephthys bustled over to Crowley and squirted him with antibacterial spray. Like magic – because it was magic – the bloodstains dissolved. 

“Crowley?” Sam managed to ask.

“Something quite terrible has happened,” the demon whispered.

“No duh,” Sam retorted, but he couldn’t miss the terror in Crowley’s eyes. 

“The boy,” said Crowley. “You need to warn Kevin. Please! They’re after him!”

Sam picked up his phone, then cried out, his fingers bleeding. The glass face had broken to shards. “God dammit!”

 

Raziel marched up to the door and knocked. It was opened by a tall, graceful Indian man dressed a bespoke suit.

“Ganesha, how absolutely lovely to see you!” trilled Raziel.

“Raziel, my dear, it's been too long!” said Ganesha. He was not only the handsomest man Jody had ever seen (even including those lovely Winchester boys), he also had a perfectly charming British accent. He swept down with air kisses for Raziel, and then stood up to take in her entourage. “But isn't this Fashion Week, my dear?”

“Something just came up.”

“Well! Would you care to come in for a drink?”

“Yeah. Everybody?”

Raziel handled the introductions once they had all gathered in the big, bright living room. Raziel had evidently dragged them to some place in the mountains, as they had a stunning view out one side onto a large deck. Jody extended a hand to Ganesha, and he bent over and kissed it while she tried really hard not to swoon at his bullshit. It _was_ bullshit. Though he was pretty as heck and he smelled really nice. 

“Um, that's pretty amazing,” said Jody, pointing to a fantastic mural in the social realistic style that took up one entire wall.

She had obviously said the right thing. “Oh, that's our little son's work,” said Ganesh, who visibly puffed up with pride.

“Oh, he's an artist?” said Jody, who didn't think Ganesha looked old enough to have an art student kid, much less one so advanced. But he was probably some kind of supernatural thing, so who knew how old he was?

“Yes, I shall go fetch him. He should be waking up from his nap! Please, let my servants know what you'd like to drink. Is anyone hungry?”

Ganesha strode out while an efficient, smiling servant bustled around taking drink orders. “I'll have a Cosmo, please Aditya,” said Raziel. Dean asked for a beer, and Jody decided tea would be nice. Castiel, who wore a grim expression, refused anything.

“And do you have any of those little cakes?” Raziel asked Aditya.

“Certainly, for you, Auntie,” Aditya told her.

“Are you hungry? Do you like cake?” she asked Dean.

“I'm more of a pie person myself,” he laughed.

“See if there's any pie,” she told Aditya.

“Don't make 'em go to any trouble!” Dean protested weakly as Aditya strode out. 

“Ganesha would be sorrowful for eternity if a guest left his home still hungry,” Raziel laughed. “Ah, here's my baby!” she gushed as Ganesha reappeared, now carrying a little boy on his hip. The boy seemed a tiny copy of his father. He was sleepy, dark-eyed and adorable.

He also had four arms. Two of them grasped out for Raziel as one wiped his eyes while he yawned. “Oh, Ganesha, you didn't wake him up for us did you?”

“Auntie Raz,” said the little boy, blinking around the room.

“Uh, this is the guy who painted the mural?” Jody had to ask as everybody (save Castiel) made themselves comfortable on the big couches.

“Well, he wouldn't have a problem holding a paintbrush!” Dean interjected.

Jody whacked Dean in the side, but Ganesha laughed. Of course, it was a completely charming laugh. “Boonie, this is Sheriff Mills! She was just complimenting your mural.”

The little eyes went wide. Boon wriggled off Raziel's lap and bounced over to Jody, gesticulating at the mural, one hand gripping her knee. “I drawed the picture! An’ my daddy helped. An' I drawed the big picture like Diedo Reebera!”

“Yes, he was influenced by the style of Diego Rivera. He is our little art student! Would you care to draw a picture for Jody, Boonie?”

“Uh-huh!” He grabbed a pencil and a drawing pad off the coffee table and climbed up between Jody and Dean on the couch, bending over the pad with furious concentration. 

“You 'helped?'” Jody asked Ganesha, raising an eyebrow. 

“My input was minimal, but I did help him to reach the high spots,” Ganesha admitted with a smile.

“Raziel,” said Cas, who was standing staring out the floor-to-ceiling window to the deck, acting impatient “We should inquire about our older brother.”

“You're looking for Sariel?” asked Ganesha, as if it didn't bother him in the slightest that his home had been invaded by a trio of random beings and he would be content to sit and discuss home décor for the afternoon. “He should be arriving home from work presently.” Aditya emerged from wherever he had gone with a tray of drinks and began to distribute them. A couple of other servants followed, with cake and other treats, including no less than three different pies, still warm from the oven. Dean's mouth was already watering, and he helped himself to rather large slices from all three, along with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream proffered by one of the smiling servants.

“Dudael,” said Cas, his tones portentous. “We believe the Seven Stars have been loosed upon the world.” Jody shivered as she sipped her tea (and also sampled a bit of cake – hey, it smelled divine). The whole situation sounded so much worse when Castiel talked about it.

Ganesha sat down, crossing his long legs. “That sounds to be quite important. Sariel should be arriving home soon. Perhaps you would care to wait? We would be most honored if you could join us for dinner.”

“That's be awesome,” said Dean, his mouth already stuffed with two different types of pie. “I'm starving!”

“Dean!” scolded Jody, leaning over where Boon was still hunched over his drawing pad to wipe some pie crust crumbs from the corner of his mouth. 

“You are enjoying the pie then?” asked Ganesh.

“Dude, this is the best pie I've ever tasted! It's like Pie Nirvana!”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Winchester! Our cook will be overjoyed. I shall go make preparations for dining.” Ganesh rose. He moved very gracefully, like a dancer.

“Oh, I wanna chat with your cook,” said Raziel. “I need to get her recipe for Swedish meatballs. The husband adored them.” They walked off together towards the kitchen.

“I hope Sariel is not long. I fear there is not much time,” fretted Cas, who had taken to pacing.

“Dude, chill the fuck out!” said Dean. “Sit and have some pie.” 

Jody had been intending to smack Dean upside the head for inviting himself to dinner, but had become distracted by Boon's drawing. He was working on a portrait of Jody. “Holy crud,” she said, leaning over him. “Uh, Boon? Can I see that?”

Boonie held it up proudly. It looked like a Leonardo sketch you'd see in a museum. “Hey, kid's got an eye. As well as arms!” Dean laughed through his pastry. He held up a hand. “Hey, high five! Or high twenty!” Boon grinned and gave him high five. 

Cas glowered.

“And you,” Dean told Cas. Dean leaned over, grabbed the back of Cas's fancy new suit jacket as the angel passed by, and pulled him down on the couch beside him. “Eat!” Dean ordered, proffering a piece of pie on the end of his fork. “Come on, don't be rude!”

Cas fixed Dean with a smiting stare.

“You're alive, Cas. And you’re here,” said Dean. “Stop and eat your damn pie.”

Cas relaxed just a microscopic amount, and grudgingly opened up his mouth. Dean stuck the fork in, and Cas chewed thoughtfully for a time. “I'm worried, Dean.”

“Yeah, we’re all worried. But we’re always gonna have another apocalypse. Let’s have pie, OK?”

Cas nodded.

Boon looked up. “Daddy!” he cried and took off running. He leapt into the arms of a silver-haired man dressed in a grey suit who had just appeared in the living room. 

The man scowled over his dark glasses at the people assembled nearby. He had very odd silver eyes. “Castiel?” he said. “I suppose there’s, uh, a reason why you’re in my living room?”

“Sariel!” trilled Raziel, who came striding out, nibbling on a piece of cake.

“Figures,” grumbled Sariel. “Raz, are you interrupting dinnertime again?”

“We need to talk about the Seven Stars, little brother.”

“You wanna ruin my appetite? The old man stuck them away inside a pit inside another pit. There’s nothing left to say.”

“Gabriel believes it is a manner of some urgency,” Castiel told him gravely.

“Gabe?” 

Dean let out a guffaw. 

“Wait, you a buddy of Gabriel?” asked Sariel, his eyes narrowing.

“Not exactly. Dude killed me 500 times in a day. All different. He’s like a douche bag’s douche bag.”

Sariel stared at Dean for a moment, and then his face edged into a grudging smile. “All right. You - whoever the fuck you are - I like.”

“I drawed a picture, Daddy!” shouted Boon, who wriggled out of Sariel’s arms and bounced over to the couch, where he proffered the drawing of Jody. “I drawed a picture of Auntie Jody!”

Sariel nodded. It was pretty clear he had a soft spot for his little son. “Yeah, isn’t that nice? We’ll put it on the fridge with the rest of ‘em.” Sariel glanced up at Jody. “Uh, hope you don’t mind? He thinks everybody is an uncle or aunt. Indian thing.”

“I don’t mind,” said Jody, who was rewarded by an enthusiastic four-armed hug from Boon. She chuckled. It wasn’t the weirdest thing that had happened this day.

“Castiel, you, uh, don’t remember anything about the Seven?” Sariel was asking. Cas shook his head. “Dammit. They took it from you, didn’t they? Well, I’d suggest we get dinner first. It’s better not to hear this one on an empty stomach. You hungry, Boonie?”

“Yay!” said Boon, who rushed off towards the kitchen. Sariel inclined his head, and the rest followed him into the dining room. Jody had to smile. Something definitely smelled delicious.

 

Wendy drove with one bare arm out the window. She disliked tanning in all its forms, but the sun felt good. Kevin was in the passenger seat, because Kevin drank too much. And Linda was sleeping in the back seat, because Linda slept too much.

Symptoms of depression, Wendy knew. She knew some things, but not others. A mother and son, against all odds, reunited. And yet they were both more skittish, wounded animals than a family unit. 

Why was this? It was weird.

“Yeah, the way Dean and Cas stand together with like one molecule space between them, I was like, what is this, anyway dudes?” Kevin waved a beer bottle. Wendy had been nervous about open container laws, but Kevin had scoffed and said there wasn’t anybody around anyway, so who even cared?

Dismissal of lawful behavior. Sociopathy? 

And they hadn’t even gotten to take the cats along. She missed those cats.

“They’re in love?” Wendy found herself asking. “A human and an angel? Isn’t that against … rules or something?”

“What rules? Whose rules?”

“It just seems like something forbidden.” How did she know this, anyway? She gazed along the lonely road. This area was flat as a pancake, but there were dark mountaintops now peeking up, just over the horizon. “I thought the bible-“

“The bible!” laughed Kevin. “The bible’s a bunch of lies. You should ask Cas some time! They got everything wrong. Everything! Like, you know the Tower of Babel?”

“Sure.” Wendy tried to remember Sunday school, so many years ago. She thought she had gone to Sunday school. Wasn't that how she'd learned the bible? 

Her parents had sent her, to get her out of the house. Though now that she thought of it she couldn't quite remember her parents. The memory was dim and faded, like a photo left in the sun.

The mountains loomed closer. Wendy thought to have Kevin take out the map. He was too paranoid to use GPS: he kept thinking people were tracking them. He had discarded the cell phones, and now they were guided by some much-folded old AAA maps. Maybe calling out directions would be good for him, she thought. He was thinking too much.

“The tower of Babel was shit! I mean, it was literally made out of dung. You can ask Cas. Ask him.”

“I _can’t_ ask the angel. You buried my cell phone.”

“It was for your protection. You’d be surprised what those guys can do – Sam and Dean. They’re like some kinda – some kinda idiot savants or something. Did I tell you about the time-?”

“What is that up there?”

Wendy started at the sound of Linda’s sleep-weary voice. Why was she so jumpy? Linda was awake now, peering around the back seat, pointing ahead.

“Mountains. Or something,” Kevin muttered, taking a drink. His eyes slid towards his mother as he held the bottle down out of her sight.

“No.”

Wendy peered up ahead. The dark mountains had come very close.

Too close.

They were moving.

“Turn the car around! Now!” shouted Linda. 

Heart beating, Wendy slammed on the breaks. Kevin spilled his beer and cursed. Wendy threw a three-point turn as the mountains-that-were-not-mountains sped closer, roiling over them.

 

_Once upon a time, in ancient Babylon, there lived a little angel named Sariel._

_He had silver eyes and silvery hair._

_His wings, when he chose to unfold them, we silver-feathered._

_Sariel was a fallen angel, exiled from Heaven from a time before history, and sentenced to live out the rest of his miserable existence among the humans. He hated humans. In fact, the only thing he hated more was other angels. He didn't actually start enjoying himself until cigars were invented. But that would be quite some time hence._

_This story takes place many years ago, after the invention of history, but quite a while before cigars._

_In those days, angels still lived amongst us. There were other angelic residents of Babylon: the Grigori, sent down to earth by God himself, to watch over his greatest creation: mankind. The brightest of these Watchers, the Seven Stars, lived in Babylon, where they were known as great scholars and teachers. Sariel knew of them; and they, of him. But they didn't socialize much. As we've said, Sariel didn't think much of other angels, and cigars hadn't been invented yet._

_But there was one angel in particular who made a habit of visiting Sariel every so often._

 

“Hello little brother!”

Bowed over his work, Sariel looked up, annoyance glinting in his eyes. He had been stringing a lute. He glared at the intruder in his workshop, currently sitting up on the bench, merrily swinging her legs and plucking at a harp.

“Put that down.”

“Look at me, I'm an angel!” she giggled, plucking the harp. 

“Give it a fucking rest, Raziel,” grumbled Sariel, who, ignoring her, went back to tuning the lute. “And why did you decide to drop by this century?”

“Just wanted to check on my favorite little brother.”

“Yeah, it's a thrill a minute, being fallen.”

“Sooo, you heard any gossip about Enoch?”

“Enoch? What's an _enoch?_ Sounds like part of a camel.”

“Our Father's newest prophet.”

“Oh, so he's a lunatic.” Sariel pretended not to care, but glanced up at Raziel. “I thought our Father was through with that revelation crap. Isn't he letting the Grigori handle humanity these days?”

“Some kind of upstairs politics brewing. From what I can understand, Uriel and some of that crowd think that humanity is straying from the Word.”

“Staying where? And isn't this Father's fault for kicking their asses out of the Garden in the first place?” Sariel became overwrought enough that he ended up tightening the lute too far, breaking a string with a rather loud twang. “God dammit, Raziel.”

Raziel arched an eyebrow and touched the string. It repaired itself.

“It’s not as good,” Sariel grumbled.

“No. It's better.” 

Sariel glared at her, nevertheless. He had rather unusual silvery eyes. When he looked annoyed, he looked quite annoyed.

“Do you suppose you might go see him?”

“Why the Hell would I want to go see a fucking prophet? Raziel, what part of 'fallen angel' do you not understand.”

“Because your favorite big sister is asking?”

“You're my _only_ big sister.”

“I was talking to Gabriel...”

“Wait, you're talking to Gabriel again? Since when?”

“We have our little tiffs....”

“Little tiffs? Last time you two nearly destroyed Australia!”

Raziel tutted, although her eyes took on a stormy cast. “Well, what kind of creature is a platypus even supposed to be? Gabriel always takes his pranks too far!”

Sariel sighed and fingered the strings on the lute. Raziel's presence tended to do that to him. On the other hand, he wasn't exactly swimming in good friends. Particularly because he was living in a town in the middle of the motherfucking desert. “All right. All right. I'll, uh, go check out the Prophet Camel's Balls, or whatever his name.”

_“Enoch.”_

“Yeah. Great.”

“You're a dear, Sariel,” said Raziel, going up on tiptoe to give him a little kiss on the cheek. 

And then, she was gone. 

Sariel played a riff from Enter Sandman on his lute. It wasn't actually a song that was going to have been written for several centuries, but angels occasionally get confused about the timestream, as they are by nature wavelengths of celestial intent rather than beings who wear wristwatches. Not that wristwatches had been invented yet either.

Satisfied that he had done a good job, Sariel set the lute down on his workbench and left his shop, making for the outskirts of the marketplace, as that's where the various types who styled themselves as prophets tended to hang out. A few people greeted him along the way – Sariel had resided for a good while in this town, and his musical instrument shop was well known and very highly regarded. Courtiers and kings had purchased his finely wrought stringed instruments, and so his other eccentricities were disregarded, and his odd appearance was attributed to some foreign origins, possibly from one of the warring tribes of the north.

After a couple of polite inquiries, he was pointed to a grim-faced little man who was holding forth to a rather small knot of people. Sariel realized immediately that most of his audience were not adherents, and that in fact he had picked up a rather sizable group of hecklers. 

“...And there arose much Godlessness, and Men committed fornication, and they were led astray, and became corrupt in all their ways,” preached Enoch.

“What's fornication?” asked one of the merry crowd. Most of them were young men and women.

“And a man should not lie with another man: it's an abomination!” Enoch lectured. Sariel mused that his career as a prophet was probably hampered by his rather annoying, high-pitched voice.

“Your face is an abomination!” shouted one of the crowd.

“You will be dealt with by the Lord, our Father!” Metatron told them.

“What's he gonna do?” asked the heckler, who wrapped an arm around his friend and gave him a smooch. The buddy, obviously used to this, just rolled his eyes.

“You will be cast into the flaming pit for all eternity!” Metatron thundered. Or tried to thunder. It actually came out as more of a trickle of static.

“Hey, I'm late for my class,” said the boy the heckler had kissed. He stood up, wiping sand off his butt.

“Schooling is a pit of mortal sin,” warned Enoch.

“What? I'm going to take a class from the Seven.”

“They were sent by Heaven, weren't they? How can it be a sin?” asked another boy.

“There is only one path to righteousness: mine!”

The boys paused, looking at one another. “Don't you mean the Lord's?” The crowd moved away, and after a few minutes, Enoch was left with an audience of one.

“None of my business,” said Sariel, “but you think you might wanna tone it down?”

Enoch glared – there was a feral intelligence in his eyes. “Sariel.”

“Sariel, the woodworker.”

“Sariel, former angel of the Lord.”

Sariel felt a chill. He wasn't quite certain why – this person was a human. Touched by the Lord, true, but just a human. “Uh, I try to downplay that last part, Enoch, prophet of the Lord.”

“So you know my true name?” asked Enoch, as he pushed several scrolls into his pouch.

In truth, Enoch's name had been forever inscribed in Sariel's mind, like the name of every prophet. Heavenly brain cells that could have been more profitably occupied, in Sariel's opinion. “It's an angel thing,” he told the prophet. 

“Then you know I was chosen of the Lord.”

“There's a whole lot of chosen people around these days. It's kind of a thing. I mean, the Seven-”

“Don't talk to me about the Seven Stars!” Enoch had gone from dismissive to furious in an instant. 

“Like I said, maybe I'm butting in here, but it seems like you and them are in the same, uh, business?”

“The Seven Stars have lost their way,” said Enoch, a remnant of the storm still remaining in his voice.

“Isn't that a little strong?”

“They were sent here to _watch_ , Sariel the fallen. That implies a certain amount of distance, does it not?”

“I don't understand what you're getting at?”

Enoch, who had been about to go off, turned abruptly. “As you said, it is none of your concern.” And then like a small rodent, he scurried off. 

“All right. Great. Fine. None of my fucking business,” grumbled Sariel, who nonetheless found himself walking – not back to his shop and peace – but rather across town, towards the library, where the Seven generally held their classes. “Do not get involved, do not get involved, do not get involved,” he muttered to himself. His feet, obviously, disagreed.

“Brother Sariel?”

Sariel halted in his tracks. A tall, blue-eyed man stood across the road, regarding him curiously. Sariel searched his memories for a name. “Castiel?”

“It is fortunate to see you, my elder brother!” Castiel came over and bowed formally.

“Uh, former brother.”

Castiel was beaming at him. “You were a friend and brother when we fought, side by side. May I still count you among my brethren?”

“Of course,” said Sariel, though he felt a bit grubby for being in Castiel's company. The Seraph was a well-regarded commander. Sariel might even say, “beloved,” were angels not such nasty little fuckers. But Castiel won hearts (if angels had had such things) with both his devotion and air of incorruptibility. They said he was unbeatable in a duel of blades – Sariel had seen him finish off demon hoards without breaking a sweat.

And the bastard always managed to sidle into the best looking vessels. This guy was young and slim and tall, but with quite striking blue eyes, which were rather unusual for the olive-skinned, dark-haired humans in this area of the world. “Uh, so, what are you doing hanging around this dive, and envesseled and all? You keeping track of Enoch? I thought that was a job for an arch.”

“No, as a matter of fact, our brother Raphael is watching over Enoch.”

“Seems like they'd get along,” Sariel muttered. Raphael was the biggest douche in Heaven. Well, now that Lucifer had skated off.

“My mission is to stand witness for the Seven Stars.”

Sariel forced himself to turn his attention back to Castiel. “Wait! Heaven's got a guy watching the Watchers now? What dimwit upstairs ordered that?” Was it possible that Raziel, for once, was right about turmoil upstairs?

Castiel's head tilted to the side, while those intense blue eyes searched Sariel's face. “My understanding is that some have questioned their adherence to their mission. Raphael has tasked our sister, Naomi, with enforcement of upholding our Father's law.”

“Naomi? I've heard of her. None of it good. Take my advice, stay far away, little brother.”

“I thank you for your concern, brother mine. So … you live here now, among the humans?” The eyes were sparkling.

“Yeah. I suppose it's not as exciting as warfare.”

Castiel looked far away. “In many ways, I envy you.”

“What?”

The blue-eyed angel gestured around himself, at the people passing by. “They are so beautiful! Our father's greatest works of art.”

Sariel had to chuckle. Oh, man, a true believer! “Some good, some bad, some really bad. I mean, same as everything.”

“I wish sometimes my fate was not as a warrior, but rather as a watcher, as you say. I would interact more with them.”

“You could come work for me at my shop,” Sariel joked. “We'll be the Angel Brothers Harps.”

“Working as a carpenter – it sounds appealing.”

“Well, it's true. I guess, uh, I guess I don't mind it.”

“Barachiel!” called Castiel. They had neared the library. The angel Barachiel was outside, with a group of students, all peering into some strange implements.

“Hello, brother,” said the angel distractedly. She had chosen a small human vessel, a middle-aged woman. Her expression changed to doubt. “And brother Sariel? Is that you?”

“Uh, yeah. Just out for a walk.”

To Sariel's surprise, Barachiel actually smiled. Probably because Castiel was a good-looking dude – let's be serious. “I was teaching some of my students the use of an astrolabe to determine declination.”

Sariel recognized a couple of Barachiel's pupils – boys who had been Enoch's hecklers not too long ago. “Barachiel, I don't wanna be a drag, but have you been listening to the prophet Enoch lately?”

Barachiel rolled her eyes. “Of course not. But I know some scalawags who've been spending too much time attending to jokes, and not studying.” She took a rolled scroll and bopped one of the boys in the back of his head. 

“What concern have the Seven?” asked Castiel. “They are instructing humans, as you can see. Theirs is the path of righteousness.”

“That's what you've been telling them upstairs, Cassie?” asked Barachiel.

“Of course.”

“Oh, Brother Samyaza!” called Barachiel.

Another angel came walking up, accompanied by a lovely human girl. He was holding her hand, and they gazed fondly at one another. That is, until they glimpsed the company, at which point they dropped hands and began walking further apart. “Uh, ahem. Barachiel. Castiel. And … Sariel?”

“Yeah, just … happened by,” grumbled Sariel.

Samyaza puffed up his chest. “You ought come give music lessons again. It was quite...” He gazed at the girl, who glanced back, dark eyelashes fluttering, and then seemed to become distracted. “Um, yes, it was most useful, Sariel.”

Barachiel cleared his throat. Samyaza appeared to wake up. “Oh, yes, let me introduce my _student_ , Esther.”

Esther smiled. She was quite pretty. 

Even though they hadn't been invented yet, Sariel needed a cigarette. Samyaza and Esther excused themselves, and hastened into the library. Barachiel clocked another student on the back of his head when he whispered something to his friend. “Get to your lessons,” she grumbled.

“Well, brother Castiel and I were going to go take a look at my music shop,” said Sariel, who grabbed Castiel's arm and began leading him away. Bewildered, Castiel allowed himself to be led along. Sariel charged away, down the street and then around a corner or two. He stopped when they got to a deserted alleyway.

“Sariel?” said Castiel, blue eyes inquisitive. “You are upset?”

“Castiel, how long has this been going on?”

“I'm sorry, what do you mean, my brother?”

“Samyaza and Esther! How long has that been going on?”

Castiel's face showed nothing but confusion. “She is his student. I don't know how long he has been-”

“They're a couple!” A blank look. “They're fucking?”

The light finally went on. “Would Samyaza do that? It's … it's forbidden.”

“Look, you saw them yourself! You saw how they looked at each other, right?”

“I suppose that … they are close?”

Oh boy. Talk about out of his depth! Sariel sighed. I would be like explaining stuff to a five year old. “Castiel, brother, you're supposed to be watching them, right? Take Samyaza aside and tell him to cool it. At least in public. You have Enoch trying to make trouble, and I've seen this kind of thing before – trust me, it will not end well if our Father catches wind of it.”

“We are supposed to love humanity,” said Castiel simply.

“Yeah, that means play harps and sing hymns, not bumping uglies. You'll talk to him?”

Castiel had leaned back against the side of a building. He seemed far away. “Sariel, I should … I should report this.”

“And what will happen? You know what happens when our Daddy loses his temper. If it gets back to him, he's going to go off slaying firstborn sons or some shit. You know that.”

Castiel nodded. “It might be better.... If there's some way to work it out. Yes. I will talk to Samyaza. I will tell him my concerns.” He looked up. “Sariel, my brother, I am grateful-”

Sariel held up a hand. “Stow the thanks. Wait until we're sure we got out of this one.” Oh, crap, did he just say, “we?” Why the Hell was he wrapped up in angel business once again? Fucking Raziel! “I've gotta get back to my shop. You talk to Samyaza! Show him the pointy end of your angel blade if you need to.”

Sariel was going to dart away, but stopped. Castiel's hand was on his shoulder. “Though you will not take it, my gratitude is yours,” he said. And then he turned and marched off back towards the library.

Sariel’s mood was dark as he walked back to his music shop. As much as he had grown to loathe human machinations, they were nothing in comparison with angel politics. Angels, Sariel thought, were vicious little fuckers. 

“Sariel!” came a voice. At the threshold of his shop, Sariel cursed and turned around.

Oh, Father, no! “Hello, Penemue,” he sighed. It was another of the Seven. He had followed Sariel all the way across town.

“Sariel, I heard you paid us a visit this morning!” Penemue was holding a scroll. He was always holding a scroll. “I have a new dramatical work debuting a few days hence.”

“Uh-huh. Well. Congratulations on that.”

“And we need some background music.”

“Well. Good luck.”

“Sariel!”

Sariel had the key in the lock. All he needed was to get the door opened quickly, and he could lock out the other angel. He gritted his teeth, and turned around. “That’s still my name.”

“I thought you could come out and play.”

“I don’t play lute for … _people_.”

“Then what in our Father’s name do you play it for?”

“I play to keep my temper in check. Otherwise there would be any number of headless people running around.”

Penemue chuckled. “Brother, you are still a wit!” Sariel tried to imagine what the voluble angel would look like without his head. Better, he thought. “Come join us this evening for the rehearsal! It will be a great advertisement for your shop.”

“You’re assuming that I want customers,” Sariel irritably told him. 

“Sariel! A merry jest! I shall see you tonight.”

Sariel pushed his way into his shop, fuming and cursing. “Raziel! Where the fuck are you?”

Raziel appeared, sitting on his workbench, wearing an elaborate embroidered silk gown. “Sariel! Why have you interrupted me? I was just discussion Confucianism with Emperor Wu over tea.”

“You don’t give a shit about Confucianism.”

Raziel pulled at the hem of her dress. “No, but they were all wearing such pretty gowns.”

“Raziel, is there anything between your ears other than plotting and pretty clothes?”

“I also adore little cakes.” Raziel’s eyes narrowed. “Now, what have you found out for me regarding Enoch?”

“He’s a jerk. And not getting much of a following.”

“Really? Because the word I’ve heard upstairs is that he’s a favorite.”

“The only people watching him were there to heckle. But I haven’t gotten to the worst part: you know Samyaza?”

“Of the Seven? Why, yes, he really should get his robes taken in.” She wrinkled her nose. “He has a nice bone structure, but he looks frumpy.”

“He’s involved with Esther, one of his students. One of his _human_ students.”

“Well, I’m sure they make a cute couple.”

“Raziel! You know what our Father makes of angels consorting with humans.”

“He does fly into a temper at the littlest things, doesn’t he?”

“Raziel!”

“I'll talk to Gabriel about this.”

“Oh, yeah, he's a great one to consult about consorting with humans. And you know what's worse?”

“No, dear.”

“Now Penemue has made me promise to provide music for his stupid play.”

“Well that's splendid! Father knows, you should get out more. Here you are, always stuck in this dusty old shop. Now I must run. My tea is getting cold.”

“Raziel!” But the little angel had already winged off. Sariel spared her a few choice phrases (one of the benefits of being immortal was the ability to curse dynamically in a fantastic multiplicity of human and angelic languages. 

He made his way down to the arena at the appointed time. He brought along one of his larger, louder instruments. Fortunately the acoustics at the arena were quite good. I occurred to him that he hadn't inquired about payment, so he intended to negotiate a large remuneration if he was going to put up with idiotic angel theatrical productions as well as idiotic angel politics. Angels! He hated them worse than humans, and he hated humans quite a lot.

He spied the placard for the show that had been posted just outside the entrance: _The Aluzinnu, a Musical Comedy in Five Acts._ A musical? But he had been employed for background music. Clearly, this was unacceptable. 

And then, his mind racing, he read the title again.

He cursed, colorfully, and in many languages. He entered the arena and tore down the stairs, making straight for the lone figure on the stage, who was out apparently rehearsing a monologue. The man, who was even shorter than Sariel (who was not a tall man), paused. “Hey, tryin' to get my lines straight buddy.” But then he threw an arm up to cover his face as Sariel raised the large lute as if to strike him. 

“Goddammit.”

“Don't take Daddy's name in vain, Sariel! You know he doesn't like it.”

“Goddammit, Gabriel. What the fuck are you doing here?” hissed Sariel, who was awfully good at hissing, given that cigars had not yet been invented. “Aren't we in enough trouble?”

“Shhhh!” said Gabriel, putting a hand on Sariel's arm to bring the lute down, hopefully without clocking him good in the head. “It's the Trickster now. I'm undercover.”

“What are you and Raziel up to now?”

“Wait, Raz? Is she here?” Gabriel blanched and scanned around the theater. 

“She went off to some damned tea party.”

“Oh, yeah, she and the Chinese Emperor are drinkin' buddies now.” Gabriel sighed, relieved, and now waggled his eyebrows. “In a manner of speaking.”

“So, you're not here about Enoch and the Stars?”

“What? What's an enoch? Is that another name for a camel's nuts?”

Sariel actually smiled at this. He didn't smile often, but he rather liked jokes at the expense of annoying prophets.

Seeing an opening, Gabriel leaned over, slung an arm around Sariel's shoulder, and said, “Look, Silverwings...”

“It's Sariel!” Sariel did indeed have silvery-feathered wings, but it annoyed him to hear about them. It was a long story, which we're not going to get into now. But it probably wasn't terribly clever of Gabriel to bring up a sensitive topic at this moment.

“I'm just trying to take my show on the road. I've had enough of angels, you know? So I'm taking a few centuries off.”

“Nice that some of us get a choice.” Sariel, as it happens, had been kicked out of Heaven in a sort of horrible bureaucratic war. Sariel, needless to say, had lost that round.

Gabriel's brow furrowed. “Hey, buddy, it's not as if all of us agreed with Uriel's decision. I don't trust that creep.”

“So you don't know anything about this trouble-making prophet, then?”

“Well, I got his dumb name tattooed in my noggin,” Gabriel told him, knocking on his own head. “That's about it.”

“Raziel says he's making trouble upstairs.”

“Eh, Raz. You know how she is.” Gabriel scanned the area again, a little of his air of worry returned. “Uh, you're sure she's not around?”

“I thought you just said you two buried the angel blade?”

“Yeah, sure, in my skull!” Though angels were vindictive little shits in general, a pair of quarreling archangels was an especially volatile mixture. Usually, Raz and Gabriel scanned the surrounding area to minimize collateral damage. Usually. “Look, I'm just in town to do my routine. I know nothing about Raz or the Seven or camel nuts. And then exit Gabriel, stage left.”

“Do you have a script?” Sariel finally asked Gabriel.

“Thought you'd never ask!” A scroll appeared in Gabriel's hand, and he unrolled it. It was filled with verses blatantly mocking just about everybody who was anybody in Babylonian society. 

Sariel, despite himself, utterly adored it. They sat down on the stage and began working out some upbeat music for Gabriel's songs, a task which, though Sariel would be reluctant to admit it, did not entirely displease him.

At one point, Penemue poked his head out from the backstage area. Sariel thought he would butt in and offer suggestions, but instead he immediately ducked back, and Sariel though not much more about it. He continued, as one does, swept away into a world of tone and pitch and rhythm.

He moved back into the audience to watch Gabriel perform one of the songs. Gabriel wasn't the best singer – even angels weren't perfect – but he had a natural gift of performance. This was going to be good!

Gabriel was coming to the last verse, and Sariel, literally tapping his toes, pleased at his work, leaned back.

That's when he became aware of the presence behind him.

Gabe had stopped dead, mouth hanging open.

“I don't believe it,” said Raziel. “I figured you'd never show your face again! After what you did!”

“Raz, take it easy!” said Gabe, holding up his hands.

“You are so dead!” said Raz, who leapt over a full set of seats to confront Gabriel, holding out a finely crafted blade.

“Hey, that's not an angel blade,” said Gabe.

“No, the emperor made me a special one.”

“Cool.”

“But, I am still very, very upset! Prepare to die!” 

As Raziel lunged at her brother (who, despite being hella powerful, had never been terribly good at dueling, which was definitely going to get him killed some day), someone tapped Sariel on the shoulder. “Brother Sariel.” He turned in his seat to see Castiel had come up behind him. “We have … an issue. I think.”

“You mean besides dueling archangels?” There was a thunderous crash, and a large boulder rained down from Heaven and fell in the middle of the stage.

“Yes, we have a problem, brother.” Castiel looked genuinely upset, and not just by the rain of destruction going on down on the stage. Sariel tried to guess what had gone wrong – perhaps he hadn't been as tactful as he should, talking to Samyaza? Perhaps Sariel should have gone to talk to him himself. But he didn't really want to get wrapped up in angel business. 

And yet, here he was.

As another crash echoed from the stage, Sariel gestured, and Castiel followed him towards an exit while the two more powerful angels raged at one another. They stopped just outside the door. Outside, down in the amphitheater, there was a tremendous crash, and both angels cringed. “Look, Castiel, if you want me to go talk to Samyaza-” But he felt Castiel's hand on his shoulder.

“My brother,” said Castiel, “Esther is with child.”


	7. Camel Nuts

_No._

_No no no no no._

Sariel had to ask, even though he knew the answer. “And the child?”

“Samyaza is the father,” said Castiel, his voice grim.

“Dammit!” Sariel's thought's immediately turned to his meddling sister, Raziel: if Gabe didn't finish her off, he sure as hell would! He peeked out the exit doorway, but both archangels had vanished. “Yeah, great, just when you actually need one, the archangels skedaddle. Nice!”

“Our Father will not be pleased, Sariel. That child – it will be an abomination.”

“It'll be a _baby_ , Castiel.” Sariel knew he shouldn't try reasoning. Castiel was a soldier, and known as a by-the-book sort. But one look at the seraph's face told Sariel a much different story. Castiel was upset by all of this. More than upset – he looked wounded.

This was none of Sariel's business, and his nosy sister had just departed. He really shouldn't give a damn. 

Nonetheless, Sariel took a chance. “Esther! We gotta get the girl away from here.”

“I doubt Samyaza could be persuaded to leave her, brother,” said Castiel. 

“You already tried, didn't you?” And now they were in it together.

Castiel wouldn't meet his eyes. He was gazing off into the distance. “In Egypt: I was there. When every firstborn son was slain. I've seen His wrath, Sariel. I've seen it, firsthand.” Castiel, who was never terribly expressive, now carried a glint of tears in his eyes. Yeah, that figured. This guy looked on humans as art – it probably killed him a little to see the kind of slaughter Father could get up to on a bad day.

“You already tried to get Esther away?”

“I offered them my protection.”

This threw Sariel for a loop. “My brother, you could get in a lot of trouble that way.”

“I suppose you speak as the voice of experience.” A small smile wavered at the edge of Castiel's mouth.

Sariel had to think fast. Maybe if Castiel could get the girl out of town, set her up somewhere else, they could make this all go away? Raziel! If he could just talk to her, she could probably set Esther up in Asia, or one of those places Father wasn't currently meddling in. 

The fly in the ointment was this Enoch guy. He either knew or had guessed what was going on. And he was probably tattling on them even now. 

“Castiel, you may not be able to get this done by asking nicely. Is that clear? I mean, it's for her own protection. And for the kid.” Sariel hated kids, but not as much as he hated angels. “How about this? I'll go have another chat with Enoch. He’s caught on about this – I see that now.”

“That is not good news.”

“No, it's not. But we don't know how much he knows – maybe he doesn’t know about the pregnancy yet. I'll go pump him for more information. I might be able to, uh, reason with him.” _With the pointy end of the angel blade_ , Sariel thought. “Forget about Samyaza: you grab Esther. I think if we can get her to our big sister, Raz might actually make herself useful, for once!”

“Do you think Raziel might offer her assistance?”

“Believe me, she loves intrigue. She'll go for it. Get the girl, bring her to my shop this evening. I'll arrange for her safe passage out of here.”

“And you?”

Sariel opened a low cabinet. He pulled out a long box, and brought out a silver blade. “I'm gonna go have a talk with our favorite prophet.”

And so Sariel found himself once again on the way to the outskirts of the marketplace, where this time, he espied a rather large crowd. He steeled himself: was Enoch now gathering a following?

As he approached, he began to hear the strains of some very familiar music. 

 

_Something revealing_   
_Something concealing_   
_Something for acolytes_   
_A prophecy tonight!_

_Something delicious_   
_Something suspicious_   
_Something from up on high_   
_A prophecy tonight!_

_No need to think,_   
_Nothing to do_   
_Bring on the Hellfire_   
_It’s down on you_   
_Something so vague it can’t be wrong!_   
_Scripture tomorrow_   
_Prophecy … tonight!_

 

There was thunderous applause, and Gabriel, who had appropriated one of Sariel’s best lutes, took a bow. 

“Goddammit, Gabe,” muttered Sariel. “I wrote this for the comedia!”

“Are you looking for Enoch, Sariel?” asked Raziel, who had been standing in the crowd, clapping along.

Sariel whirled around to face his sister. “I thought you and Gabriel were gonna kill each other?”

“Well, you know how these things go!”

Sariel counted to 10, grateful that someone had thought to invent a zero. “Yes. I am looking for Enoch. What the Hell have you done with him?”

“Me? I didn't do anything. He started raving about the Seven again, and had gathered a small crowd, so Gabriel and I came here with our new prophecies....”

“Dammit, Raziel, I wrote that song!”

“I said, 'our,' dear: that includes you.” She held her hands up, as if showing a marquee. “'Raziel and Gabriel perform … Prophecies! Featuring Sariel.'”

“ _Featuring_ Sariel?” That bit was quite a ways below. Also, in smaller print.

“Anyway, Enoch got all huffy when we gathered a crowd. He started muttering something about a rain of fire and flounced off homewards.” 

“Rain of fire? That doesn't sound good.”

“Well, you know how Daddy is when he has his moods.”

“You know where Enoch lives?” 

“That horrible little building on the end of the market street.”

Raziel pointed, and Sariel took off running. A rain of fire, he thought. He wondered if- The library? 

He halted. “Raziel!” he turned and shouted, but she was already gone.

Cursing, Sariel continued running. Raziel, despite being the world's most irritating sister, had done them a favor by diverting Enoch's onlookers. Enoch's home was an out of the way place located in a narrow alleyway. The place was dark.

He tried the door and, finding it was unlocked and unwarded, let himself in. He stood, breathing hard for a moment. He seemed to be alone inside, so he braved a bit of angel magic, and produced a glow from his hand. He gazed around the room in shock: it was stacked with pile upon pile of scrolls, including a rather high stack he had apparently backed into when he entered. He grabbed one of the scrolls and began to read.

_“Again the Lord said to Raphael, Bind Azazel hand and foot; cast him into darkness; and opening the desert which is in Dudael, cast him in there._   
_Throw upon him hurled and pointed stones, covering him with darkness;_   
_There shall he remain forever; cover his face, that he may not see the light.”_

“Shit,” said Sariel. “They're already cooking up the punishment?”

He picked up another scroll.

_“Then I made a circuit to a place in which nothing was completed._   
_And there I beheld neither the tremendous workmanship of an exalted Heaven, nor of an established earth, but a desolate spot, prepared, and terrific._   
_There, too, I beheld seven stars of Heaven bound in it together, like great mountains, and like a blazing fire. I exclaimed, For what species of crime have they been bound, and why have they been removed to this place? Then Raphael, one of the holy angels who was with me, and who conducted me, answered: Enoch, wherefore do you ask; wherefore do you reason with yourself, and anxiously inquire? These are those of the stars which have transgressed the commandment of the most high God; and are here bound, until the infinite number of the days of their crimes be completed.”_

“Shit shit shit,” said Sariel.

He sensed a presence, so extinguished the magic light in his hand, and stood, holding his breath.

The room trembled, and there was a bright light. Sariel threw an arm up to cover his sensitive silver eyes. The light bloomed and withered. He stood in the dark, listening to his own quick breaths.

He was no longer alone. There was someone else in the room. 

Some shuffling footsteps and a curse, and Enoch lit a lantern, squinting into the darkness. “Ah. Sariel. So nice of you to pay a visit. You've checked on the Seven, I guess? And you've seen the truth in what I've told you?”

Sariel held up a scroll. “Enoch, what have you done?”

Enoch laughed and snatched the scroll from him. “I've been on a little tour with my good friend, Raphael. Your father has been preparing a room for the Seven, when they return to him. He's not at all pleased with their antics. Not at all.”

“You're seriously using this as leverage? Well, you're too late.”

Enoch glared at him. Was that a trace of doubt crossing his face. “Nonsense.”

“No. Castiel talked to them. It's over. Samyaza and the girl.”

Enoch was staring. “ _Castiel_ , did you say?” he asked, licking his lips.

“Enoch, you're gonna have to tell them you were wrong,” said Sariel. “I don't know a lot about anything, but I do know my Father. He's not too keen on liars. If you've got a deep pit dug for the Seven, don't be surprised if he goes ahead and chucks you in there, once he figures out there's nothing going on.” It was a bluff, of course. One of the advantages of being fallen is that Sariel wasn't terribly particular about telling the truth.

“I don't believe you.”

“That's the great thing about the truth, asshole. You don't need to believe it. It just is.” Sariel turned on his heel and departed. He walked slowly until he reached the end of the alleyway. He thought he saw, just before he turned down the main street, a bright flash of light from Enoch's residence, but afterwards he couldn't be sure.

And then he took off running again, praying to himself (though he wasn't the praying kind) that Castiel had succeeded in getting Esther away from Samyaza. It didn't seem like Enoch knew about the pregnancy, so maybe there was still time. 

His shop was dark and empty. Sariel slipped in the door, but kept the lights extinguished. 

“Raziel!” he prayed. “Raz, you need to get here, and now. Father is already on a rampage. He's had them make a prison for the Seven! He's already got the hole dug. Listen, you gotta hear me. We need to save the girl. You gotta help me!”

But in answer, there was only silence. Sariel tried again, first calling Raziel, then cursing her, and then getting much more creative with his curses.

Some hours later, after it had gone dark, he had begun to tinker with a lute just to keep his hands busy. He heard heavy footsteps outside.

“Castiel!”

The solemn angel entered the shop, cradling a large, heavy sack. He squatted down and carefully laid it out on the floor. He tugged at the top, opening it to reveal the face of a sleeping girl.

“I had to do … what was necessary,” said Castiel, a tinge of regret in his voice.

“Samyaza?”

“Doesn't know I'm here. Where is Raziel?”

“That's a good question.” Sariel was crouched down next to his brother. The girl, to his relief, was sleeping peacefully. “We got problems!”

“Does Enoch know of the child?”

“I don't think so. But he's already tattled to our Father about Samyaza. And Daddy's already dug a pit for them.”

“This is not good news.”

Esther roused, yawning and blinking. “Castiel? What is going on? Where am I?”

“You've gotta go away for a little while,” Sariel explained. “Our sister's gonna help you.”

“Help me with what? Castiel, who is this? What- what are you doing? What is happening?”

Castiel and Sariel exchanged a glance: the ground had begun to tremble. Bright lights flashed in the sky. All of them ran to the window: there was a shower of orange and red, to the west, and just visible over the tops of the buildings, smoke, and flames.

“The library!” said Sariel. “They're burning the library.”

“Samyaza!” Esther cried.

Castiel grabbed Esther and pushed her towards Sariel. “Take her! I'll hold them off! I'll hold them all off.”

Sariel didn't have time to argue. Grabbing a still bleary Esther by an arm, he half led her, half dragged her towards the back door of his shop. He shut the door to the back room, leaning against it for a moment. There was a blinding light, and the entire building trembled. Sariel and the girl were thrown to the ground.

Sariel pushed himself up. There were voices in the next room.

“Castiel. We're just looking for the girl.”

“Who are you?” Castiel demanded.

“My name is Naomi. I'm here to help.”

“Stay away!”

There were sounds of scuffling. Sariel grabbed Esther's arm and dragged her out the back, and then began running. “Raziel, where the fuck are you?” he cried.

“What's going on? Let me go!” Esther demanded. She skidded to a halt. “I need to get to Samyaza!”

“Dammit! We don't have time for this! Didn't you hear back there? All of Heaven is out after you!”

“Where is Samyaza? The library is on fire!”

“Forget about Samyaza.”

“I love him.”

“Fucking A.” There was a light nearby, and Sariel pushed himself in front of Esther, pulling out his angel blade. “God dammit, we're fucked,” he whispered. “Run!” he yelled to Esther.

And before him appeared … the creepy little prophet.

Sariel, who expected he was about to be smitten by an archangel, didn't react well. “What the fuck? What are you doing here, Enoch?”

“I am no longer Enoch,” he said with a sly grin. “I've gotten a promotion. I am now the angel, Metatron! Official scribe of the Lord.”

Sariel had to pause. “ _Metatron_? Seriously?”

“What?”

“You chose that name?”

“No, it was chosen for me.”

“What, as a joke?”

Metatron glowered. “I'm looking for the girl. What have you done with her?”

“What girl?” Sariel glanced behind himself, but Esther was no longer there. He sighed in relief. “And where's Samyaza?”

“They won't be a problem. Not any more. Now, give us the girl.”

Sariel raised his sword. “You're new at this. You get your blade yet?”

“What? Why would I need a blade? I'm a scribe!”

“Oh, too bad,” said Sariel, lunging forward.

Enoch – or Metatron – dodged, but just barely. “Idiot! I'm still under Raphael's protection.

“Raphael? I'm not afraid of Raphael.”

The ground began to tremble. 

“Then why are you shaking, Sariel?” Metatron taunted. “If you're not going to spill about the girl, perhaps we'll get Naomi to ask you. She has ways to persuade angels. Even fallen ones.”

Sariel gasped. The earth spun.

Suddenly, he was sitting in a palace, in front of a delicate tea service. 

“Dammit, Sariel! How did such a skinny little bastard get so heavy?”

Sariel found himself sitting in Raziel's lap. He scrambled off of her, kneeling beside her on the floor while she poured tea. “Raziel. What the hell? Why didn't you come?”

“Raphael's put an APB out for all of us,” she explained, brushing a speck of dust off of her elaborate silk robe. “I had to be quick, fly underneath the radar. I went and grabbed you and pulled you back here.”

“Where's the girl? Did you get Esther too?”

She shook her head.

“Dammit, we gotta go back there! We gotta find her!”

“We'd be spotted for sure.”

“Raz-”

“Little brother, If she's lost, then it's good she stays lost. For her sake. Now, want some tea?”

He let her press a cup of tea into his hands, and they sat there for a while, sipping tea, Sariel regretting that cigars had not yet been invented.

“I wish-”

“Some things you can change, little brothers. And some, you can't.”

One of the musicians hit a bum note on their pipa. “Who the fuck designed that lute?” grumbled Sariel, who stormed over to tune it.

Raziel smiled, and sipped her tea.

 

“So, if we're fighting the Seven Stars, we’re fighting the good guys?” Dean asked. “Metatron fucked them over?”

“It happens,” said Sariel. 

They were sitting on the couch. Dean held a cup of coffee, but realized it had gone cold. He set it down. Ganesha had removed his jacket, and now, for some damn reason, had four arms, like his kid, who was sitting on his lap, drawing another masterpiece. 

“And what happened to the girl? Esther?” Dean asked at length.

“I have no idea. I assume … well, if they found her, it wouldn't have been good.”

“Dean.” There was a hand on his knee. Dean turned to Jody, but she was looking elsewhere. He followed her gaze, out to the balcony. Castiel was out there now, hunched over the balustrade. 

Dean nodded to Jody, and went out to join Cas. He rested a hand on the angel's shoulder. 

“I mean, who the fuck chose the name Metatron?” Sariel was saying. “What a douche!”

“Hey. How you doing?” Dean asked Cas.

“I couldn’t help them, Dean.” Tears were streaming down Cas’s face. “I failed.”

“You stood up for them. That’s what counts.”

“Nothing counts.”

“Hey! Look at me.” Dean was now hanging on to both shoulders, staring hard at Cas. “Look at me, Cas. You were in a shitty situation. Hey, I’ve been there. You did what you could. Not the first time we’ve all been fucked over by Metatron. But you know what?”

“What?”

“You got me this time around, right? We'll figure it out. Together.”

Cas's smile through tears was so stunning that Dean had to clear his throat and punch the balustrade in order to feel manly again.

Little Boon came running onto the balcony. “I drawed the picture!” he announced, holding up a sheet of paper. 

“Oh, well, that's nice.” Dean bent down and picked up the boy, while Cas stared at the drawing. “Did you get my good side, kiddo?”

“This is … anatomically advanced,” said Cas.

“What?”

Cas turned the paper so Dean could see. A realistically-styled drawing depicted Cas and Dean, locked in an embrace.

“Wait, am I wearing … pants?” asked Dean.

“Boon!” said Sariel, who had come running out on the patio. He snatched away the drawing. “Baby, we've talked about this.”

“But the human body is beautiful,” protested Ganesha, hot on Sariel's heels. 

“He's four, Ganesha! He should be drawing stick figures, not slash pairings.”

“He's following the classic masters.”

 

Jody remained on the couch, sipping tea and watching the commotion out on the balcony. 

Raziel came bustling out, holding a little plate of tea cakes. “Would you like anything else, dear?”

“Naw, I'm pretty stuffed,” said Jody, rubbing her stomach. “I need to watch it if I'm gonna fit this fancy dress.”

“You have a darling figure,” said Raziel.

Jody put down her tea cup and clasped her hands. “So, angel lady, what happened to Esther?”

Raziel raised an eyebrow.

“You were there for most of this story too.”

Raziel smiled sweetly and pulled at the hem of her dress. “But Sariel is so much better at storytelling. I always tend to get distracted when someone is wearing an especially cute outfit.”

“And you can drop the act. I'm a cop, remember?”

Raziel put down her plate of cakes. “My Father always had his … differences with Sariel. I figured, out of sight, out of mind. And he did end up improving the lutes they were using in the Chinese court. As for poor Castiel, well, it wasn't pretty what Naomi was up to, but it did block out the memories.”

Jody thought about this for a while. “That leaves Gabriel.”

“Yes. It does, doesn't it?”

 

A raven found its way to the porch. It alit, watching the men, some of whom were not men at all, speak and gesture. 

There was a boy too. He was not a boy.

The bird sat for a moment, and then flew inside, through the open door, to where the women sat. He hopped up on the shoulder of the small, dark-haired woman.

“Ah, Muninn! Hello, dear!” Raziel reached into her purse and brought out some birdseed. “Does Father need us?”

“Are you talking to the bird?” asked Jody.

“Yes. Sariel and Ganesha are out of cell phone range here. We've offered to build a tower, but they're so fond of their privacy. Yes, Muninn? Oh, dear. Well, if it's Ragnarok, I'll have to get home. And it's past the children's bedtime.”

Jody pulled out her cell phone. No bars. Shit! She hoped Alex was OK. She hadn't even thought about whether or not she was getting messages. “I didn't tell my daughter I'd be away.”

“I'll set you down anywhere you'd like, dear. Though then I must dash off home.”

“Can you get me back to Sioux Falls? I just want to check on my girl.”

“Of course.” 

Jody wasn't quite ready – well, you're never quite ready for angel flight – but quite suddenly she was standing in her own living room.

“Jody!”

“Oh, Alex! I'm so sorry, hon!” Jody went to give the girl a hug just as her phone started to beep and buzz with messages.

“Whoa, Jody!” said Alex. Jody realized she was still dressed in the snazzy gown. “You been shopping or what?”

“Is this your daughter?” gushed Raziel who stepped forward to give the girl an air kiss.

“Um, kind of. Alex, this is my friend, Raz.”

“You have such lovely bone structure! So delicate!” said Raziel.

“Uh, thanks,” said Alex, who blushed.

“I will be back to take you two shopping! I'm so sorry I must dash. You know, Ragnarok and all. Be well.” And then, with a whisper of wings, she was gone.

“Uh, angel,” said Jody as Alex stared.

“OK, that was … pretty fucking weird.”

“I'll ignore the cursing, because it was pretty fucking weird. Are you OK?”

“I'm fine. But everybody has been trying to get ahold of you!”

Jody glanced at her phone. “What is it now?”

“I guess this woman was found wandering around by the side of the road. She seemed disoriented.”

“Yeah?”

“She's claiming hungry ghosts took her son.”

Jody stared at her phone.

“Shit!”

 

Being alive was different.

“Want some milkshake, Mom?”

Linda glanced over and scowled at her son. Kevin had flipped the plastic lid off his vanilla shake and was pouring in something out of a flask. “You shouldn't do that.”

“What not?”

“Kevin, we need to talk about your drinking.”

“I drink to forget,” laughed Kevin. He put a finger over the top of the straw and pulled it out of the drink, then placed the bottom of the straw in his mouth and drank that way, giggling. 

“To forget what?”

Kevin's smile spread across his whole face. “I don't remember! See how well it works?”

A truck swept past on the highway, raising dust and dirt at the little picnic table where she and Kevin were sitting, eating their lunch.

“Where's the girl?” asked Linda.

“What girl?”

“We're traveling with a girl. The one who was working for me.”

“I don't remember! See how well this works?” 

Linda reached over the table and snatched the flask from Kevin's hands. She poured it out onto the desert floor.

“Why did you do that? I'll only get more!” Kevin laughed and brought out another, identical flask.

Linda was standing up, gazing at the horizon, her heart racing. “This isn't real. None of it. Kevin, we've gotta get out of here.”

“Naw, I'm fine,” said Kevin, pouring more booze into his milkshake. “I mean, there are milkshakes.”

“Kevin, we need to get out! Now!”

Kevin gazed across the table at her. His eyes were old, old as eternity.

“You're not Kevin.”

He smiled a cat smile. “You're quick! I'll give you that. No wonder Crowley had so much trouble.”

“Where's my boy?” 

He picked up the shake to drink, but she knocked it out of his hand.

“So, here's the thing,” said the Kevin-who-was-not-Kevin. “We have what we call a situation here.” His manner had changed. The milkshake lay on the ground, contents pooling on the sand, sucked down. He gazed out at the endless horizon. “You can go back. I'll let you. You're not really worth holding onto. But if you dare mention this – to anyone – you'll never see your son again. Not your son, not his soul, not his ghost, not anything. He's gone – obliterated.”

She wanted to hit him, not that it would have done any good. 

Instead, gritting her teeth with anger and determination, Linda turned on her heel and began walking down the roadway, underneath the relentless desert sun. She walked, she wasn't quite certain how long, over endless miles, from wherever the hell she was to wherever the hell she was going. Her feet ached as her toes began to blister, rubbing against her cheap shoes. She was thirsty. She wanted to curl up and sleep and sleep and sleep forever, but that time was done.

“Hey!”

Linda turned. The voice had come from a police car.

“Hey.” The cop jutted his elbow out the open window. His face was concerned.

The side of the car read, “To protect and serve. Sioux Falls, SD.”

Linda marched over to the car, opened the back door, and slipped into the back seat.

“I need to talk to Sheriff Jody Mills,” she announced.

 

“You done helping Sam out?”

Nodding, Cas removed his suit jacket and folded it up, carefully laying it across a chair. He sat down on the end of Dean's bed and began to roll up his sleeves. Dean blinked. It was such a human gesture, not really what he expected from the angel. 

Dean set down the book he had been reading and followed Cas's gaze. The marks on his arms – actually vampire souls – were writhing more than usual today. “Sam and I have gone over each protective charm in the basement room. Linda will be able to talk to Sheriff Mills free of any interference, human or otherwise.”

“Good, because right now, she's our only lead on Kevin. But meanwhile, we gotta grab Gabe and see where he stashed Samyaza’s girlfriend. You said he’s still not answering his pages?”

“No.”

Dean extended a hand, his fingers tracing the markings up and down Cas's arms. Perhaps it was his imagination, but they seemed to quiver with life. 

“They're spreading,” Cas told him. “The markings.” He yanked at his tie, and then unbuttoned the top of his shirt. The traces had spread over his chest. Dean was now intrigued both by the markings and the expanse of angel skin, so he scooted over to complete the process of unbuttoning. He followed the markings with his fingertips, and then, as a purely scientific experiment, tried applying his tongue.

“Dean?”

“Umm?”

Dean felt his head being gently tugged back. He made a small, disappointed sort of grunt.

“Dean, the goddesses have told me there is a spell to unleash the vampire souls I carry. It would be temporary.”

“Easier than hunting down the bodies?”

“Yes. And Benny has told me they can potentially assist us in locating Kevin.”

“They're now vampire bloodhounds?”

Cas tilted his head. “Yes, in a way.” Dean had gotten distracted again, this time by Cas's neck. “Dean.” Cas once again gently pushed him back.

“What?” It came out a little sharper than Dean had intended. Cas winced. “Hey, I'm sorry. What?”

“It would loose many vampires upon the earth.”

“I think we can trust 'em.”

“This is not the first time I've brought Purgatory back to leash upon the earth.”

“Oh!” Some blood must have still been rattling around in Dean's brain, because he understood. “You don't want it to be like when you were carrying the Leviathan?”

“No.”

Dean scooted himself back so there was a gap between his lips and all that tempting angel skin. 

“You said,” Cas prompted, “that we are now together?”

“Yeah, I did! And I meant it!” Dean thought it over. “I think it'll be OK this time. Seems like we can trust the Alpha. But we've got bigger fish to fry right now. Maybe Jody will get what she needs from talking to Linda, but it's likely we'll still need the vamps to sniff out Kevin.”

“More specifically, the girl who was with them, Wendy, appears to have a distinctive smell to her blood.”

“What, is she part fairy?”

Cas puzzled for a moment. “Oh, a _True Blood_ reference? I'm surprised Metatron watched that one. It seems … trashy.”

“You think Metatron is the one who's got Kevin?”

“No. By all accounts, Heaven is sealed.”

Dean and Cas regarded one another, both independently thinking of the alternative.

“Too much thinking,” Dean finally said. “I gotta say goodbye to our vamps!” Grabbing Cas's thigh to steady himself, he gently pressed his lips along a mark that zigged across Cas's pectoral muscle. This time, Cas didn't push him away, but instead made a very pleasing noise when Dean's teeth grazed his nipple. Dean pressed at Cas's chest, pushing him down on the bed, and continued kissing his way down Cas’s chest, down his belly, down to that tempting area just under his waistband. “You smell so good. Like the ocean. Fresh air.”

“Dean!”

The same, who had been nibbling on a hipbone, barked, “What?”

“The girl! She wasn’t human. But I know what she was! I remember now!”

“What girl?”

But Cas had scrambled out from underneath Dean and was up and dashing out of the room.

“Angels,” grumbled Dean.

 

Jody took a chair.

“You good there?”

Linda was sipping some kind of tea. They had brought in an old love seat, where Linda was curled up, and a comfy chair and some coffee table, with a mugs of tea set out. Other than the weird surroundings, it could be the two of them just meeting to shoot the shit, maybe gossip about their kids.

Linda looked up over her tea. “No one can hear?”

She and Jody both looked over to the door. It was closed, although Castiel had assured her it was only a formality. Even with the door wide open, you couldn't hear anything said inside the room. It was pretty cool, like the old Get Smart Cone of Silence or something.

“I'm new at this, but I had them sit down and explain it to me, and it seems like, yeah, nothing is getting out of this room.”

“I'm new at this too,” Linda confessed, putting down her tea. She chuckled. “I used to think it was stressful, being a single mom, getting Kevin to study for his AP classes.”

“I'm getting the single mom stuff now,” said Jody.

“You have kids?”

“A daughter. A foster daughter. I had a son, but....” Jody trailed off. It was still difficult to talk about it. Nearly impossible. 

“Oh! I didn't know that. I'm really sorry.”

“He died. And then he came back. But it wasn't real. Oh, shit, I'm probably over-sharing, huh?”

Linda was shaking her head. “I had no idea. I had friends who believed in chakras and bad vibes and the hungry ghosts. But, you know, other than avoiding living on the sixth floor....”

“The sixth floor? Not the thirteenth?”

“No, the sixth.”

Jody and Linda shared a small, quiet smile. 

The door burst open. “Castiel, what are you doing here?” Jody demanded as the angel stood there, half dressed, a wild look in his eyes.

Cas was next to Linda, standing too close. “The girl worked for you. Where did she come from?”

Jody was on her feet. “What? What girl? Cas, you need to get out of here.”

“Wendy? Or Wednesday? I don’t remember,” said Linda. She shook her head. “I never got a resume. She was just … _there_.”

Dean burst in as well. “Cas? What the hell is going on? They were supposed to be alone in here.”

“The girl, Dean!”

“What girl?”

“The goth girl, I think,” said Jody. 

Linda was staring off into space. “That’s weird.” She shook her head. “I hired her, but I don’t even know her real name. How is that possible? I mean, how do I pay her?”

“OK. She’s not human?” asked Dean. “What is she?”

“She’s Nephil,” Cas told him.

“What the hell is that?”

“Uh, weren’t they half angel?” asked Jody. “Like, in the bible?”

“Yes, they are abominations,” said Cas.

“She was a girl!” Linda countered. “Not a monster! Not an abomination. Just a girl.”

Cas made to speak again, but then had second thoughts. Finally he said, “I was taught to fear her kind. But many things I thought I knew were … _misguided_. She is more than, as you say, just a girl. She may be a key.”

Linda sat, lost in thought. “They told me not to talk about my son. But they didn't mention the girl.”

“You think they didn't know?” asked Dean.

Linda shook her head.

“Maybe we have some good news here,” said Dean. “It's not much, but it's something. C'mon, Cas. Jody, you and Linda keep talking, and maybe we can figure out how to de-vamp Cas.”

“I will ask the goddesses,” said Cas.

“Later,” said Dean, pushing Cas out of the room. “We have … stuff to catch up on.”

“Are you irritated that we were interrupted in the middle of sexual relations?”

Dean flinched and shut the door with a bang.

Jody looked at Linda. 

And then they both burst out laughing.

 

“Are you cold?”

Wednesday shook her head. She curled up in her chair, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Seems like I was just talking to my mom,” said Kevin, poking his straw into his strawberry milkshake. “Was she here?”

“I don't think this is real.”

Kevin glanced over at her. Wendy. Or Wednesday maybe? Or … somebody else? 

It was pleasant here. 

Sometimes the man would come. Sometimes it was Sam. Sometimes he was someone else. But it was the same guy. Only not. It was one of those things.

“Do you have it for me?”

Oh! Here he was now. Kevin sipped on his milkshake. It was chocolate now. The man was not Sam, and he was not pleased.

His face looked like it was melting on one side.

“Do I have what?” Kevin asked.

The man huffed and frowned, and it appeared that one side of his face was going to split open with all the frowning. “Did you translate the tablet?”

“I already did that.” This was a really good milkshake. “I did it for Sam and Dean. And then for Crowley. And then for-”

“Don't mention that name!”

Wendy or Wednesday or someone else cringed. Kevin sipped on his Jamoca Almond Fudge milkshake. “Why not? It's just a name. Crowley!”

The man seemed to draw inwards. He was Sam. Sam Winchester wearing a nice, crisp white suit. 

“Nice suit.”

“You need to translate the tablet.”

“OK. Have you seen my mom?”

“No!” The man looked exasperated. He turned on his heel and stormed out.

He was quite mad.

“This isn't real, Kevin.”

Kevin noticed that there was a tablet on the table in front of him. The angel tablet. Or maybe it was the demon tablet. Or quite possibly it was both. Or neither. Kevin grinned, put down his strawberry milkshake, and grabbed the cardboard box that was sitting beneath the table. “What's this?” he asked.

“I dunno. Maybe we unloaded it from the car?”

He opened the box. 

Something leapt out. 

He dropped the box.

“Shit, what was that?”

It was now sitting on the goth girl's lap: a cat. The orange tabby. His mom's cat.

Just a cat.

A cat was just a cat.

“How did you get here?” Wendy asked it. And then she paused. As if she was getting an answer. “Can you tell them? Tell them. Please!”

The cat meowed, and then, with a swish of its tail, dashed off. As cats tend to do.

“Dude,” said Kevin. “What’s in this milkshake?” He held it upside down.

It had turned to rubber.

 

“Dean,” said Cas. It was nice here, in Dean's bed. Dean and Cas's bed. In Dean and Cas's room. This was evidently where he belonged now. This was all so very nice. What had Castiel the fallen angel ever done to deserve this? He didn't know.

“You gettin' chatty again?” said Dean. But he was smiling. He laid his head back on the pillow, and put his hands behind his head ,revealing all the skin: his arms, his chest, his neck. How could skin be so tempting? Cas wanted to drown in him. “What?”

“Dean, even if we find the prophet – Kevin. Even if we find the girl. We can't give them over to the Seven! They've been held prisoner for centuries. Tortured! They're probably insane. And angels, as you know-”

“Are already dicks? No offense.”

Cas deflated. It was true. “None taken.”

“Naw, Cas, we're not gonna give 'em over. You know that.” Dean chuckled. “We'll probably do something brave and stupid. And get killed again.”

“Oh.” Well, there wasn't much to say to that. But now Dean was tugging him near.

“So, we eat pie. And have lots of dirty sex. Because we can.”

“ _Carpe diem_?”

“If you wanna be fancy about it.” But now Dean was sliding on top of Cas, slowly easing their bodies together in that lovely, slow way he had. “Hey, I wanna see if I can do that thing again, that made your eyes glow blue,” Dean muttered into Cas's ear.

“I don't think that was a very good idea!”

But Dean was laughing softly and entwining himself, tangling and sliding, and oh it felt so sweet to be united, if only for a brief second in Castiel's very long lifespan. He liked the quiet, the dance, and the moment when Dean entered him, and they became one, flowing together. Dean shone so lovely and pure when the doubt was stripped away, when it was only the two of them and the universe.

The bed creaked, and Dean moaned, throbbing with his orgasm. Cas held on, arms and legs around his lover, while Dean slowly gentled down.

“I love you,” he breathed into Cas's ear.

It was nice. Being alive, it was nice.


	8. The Bobby Singer Brigade Marches On

“Cas, it’ll be OK.”

Sam had a big hand over the angel’s shoulder, and was smiling his most reassuring smile.

Cas’s eyes were trained not on the younger Winchester, but on Dean. Sam figured this must be triggering a lot of flashbacks for the angel. 

“It will be completely painless!” Nephthys announced, bustling around, setting up yet another candle. Cas was stripped to the waist, and standing in the middle of some kind of elaborate pentagram-ish marking the goddesses had painted and carved and etched on the ground out in back of the bunker. 

“You don’t have to stay here, kiddo,” Jody told Alex. The girl had come down from Sioux Falls with her this time. Alex: she had almost been a vampire herself. Talk about triggering! But then Benny had cooked her up a breakfast, with fried eggs and hotcakes and good strong coffee, and they’d gotten to talking and Sam guessed southern charm was the balm to smooth over most everything. 

Benny was a damned good cook. 

“I’m OK,” Alex assured her. “I want to know about this stuff, I guess?”

“Which one is Lenore?” asked Benny, who was also hovering around Cas. “You happen to know, angel?”

Cas scowled – his go-to expression – but then extended an arm, and pointed to a tracing on the inside of his forearm. Benny shot him a questioning look, and Cas nodded. Benny gently grabbed his arm, rubbing a big thumb on that spot. “See ya, gal.”

He smiled and nodded to Cas, and then moved back, out of the way.

“This won’t …hurt him, will it?” asked Dean.

“No, not at all!” sang Nephthys.

“It might sting,” said Isis.

“It might sting!” Nephthys repeated, hurrying around in her high heels, rearranging some bowls of herbs.

“What does that mean?” asked Dean, but then the goddesses were ushering him out of the way and there were fires flaring up and some enchantments in lost languages and all the stuff and nonsense that went with the making of the magic – the _old_ magic.

Cas stood, puzzled expression on his face, and for a while they all wondered if the magic would come. When at last it started, it was so quiet, like a whisper of wings, or a soft breeze through grass, but then it was quite suddenly a whirlwind, Cas in the middle, eyes cobalt blue, and not two nor four, but six very large, very real wings, stretching out to all the horizons. Cas was the center of the storm, the meaning of the storm. 

Jody threw a protective arm over Alex and may have yelled, “Get down,” but the words were torn from her mouth. 

The first thin cut appeared in Cas's chest, bursting through with bright blue grace as a captured soul tore loose from his body. Then another rip in the flesh of his shoulder, and another in his back, and another and another, and still, another.

Dean yelled and leapt for him, but Sam wrestled him down, and then whorls and shards of souls fled his body, tearing out of him, leaving him bleeding, panting, on his knees, hollow eyed, weeping bloody tears. 

The souls hovered, glistening blue and airy, and then began to take form. In a whisper there was a small group of figures gathered around the angel, standing around the perimeter circle. Their eyes flashed a stormy sea blue, and then faded.

The magic stilled; the quiet returned.

“Well done,” said the Alpha, his face formed to a spike-toothed smile. “Is everyone here?” he added congenially.

“Well I'll be fucked in the ass,” said Jeremiah the vampire, who was obviously pleased to be out of Castiel's arm, not to mention back from Purgatory.

“All present, My Lord,” said Lenore, who had rather more of an attention span than Jeremiah. Benny was already standing by her. He had never smiled so wide.

Dean wrested free of his brother's hold and ran to steady Cas. “What did you do to him?” he growled as Cas trembled in his arms. “Hey, buddy, can you heal yourself?” he asked, much more quietly.

Cas hovered a tentative hand over his arm, but nothing happened. The hand drifted downwards. “Dean, I don't feel well,” he slurred, swaying like he’d drunk a liquor store or two.

The goddesses bustled over and peered at Cas. Isis straightened her floppy hat and crouched down to stare him in the eye, cupping his face in her chubby hand while Dean still cradled him. “Oh! I believe bits of your angelic grace got mixed in with my spell.”

“You should be more careful about that, dear!” her sister chided, clucking her tongue.

“I- I'm human?” asked Cas as Dean helped him to his feet. He looked as if the horizon still shook.

“No, not all human,” Isis explained. “But not all angel. A little bit of both.”

“Dammit! You guys, can't you bippity-boppity-boo his grace back?” Dean was moving to strangle at least one Goddess, so Sam, again, grabbed his brother's arm.

“There is nothing to worry about,” Isis assured him. “All the grace will pop right back when the spell wears off.”

“How do you know that?”

“Dean,” said Cas softly, “it's all right.”

“No it's not!” Dean raged. “You're hurt. You got hurt again!”

Cas furrowed his brow in concentration, passing a hand once again over the wounds in his arm. This time, a small light emitted, and the cuts stitched themselves up. He sighed.

“There you are,” cooed Isis. “All set right.”

But Dean was not mollified. “He's not set right! He's supposed to be an angel.”

“Dean,” said Sam.

“Why did we deal with witches?” said Dean.

“We're not witches, we're _goddesses_ ,” Isis stormed back.

“Isis, dear,” cautioned Nephthys, as now the hunter and the stout little witch might come to blows.

Fortunatley, Jody broke the tension. “Dean!” she called as she hung up her cell phone. “Sam! I just got a call. I sent some of my guys to look for Linda's car. They think they found it!”

“Looks like we've got some bloodhounds for you,” said Sam. “Are you guys cool with it?”

Benny had been huddling with the newly resurrected vampires. The Alpha regarded the Winchesters for a long moment. He cast a glance at Lenore, who nodded. “It will be our pleasure.” He turned to Isis and Nephthys, bowing formally. “My honored sisters, may I inquire as to how long we will be able to travel in this realm?”

“Oh, it's nice to see such a respectful young man,” clucked Nephthys, while Dean glared.

“Forty-eight hours,” said Isis.

“Forty-eight hours” repeated Nephthys.

“That's not much time with my lady,” said Benny, squeezing Lenore's hand, and evoking a soft smile from her.

“Do you actually know it's 48 hours?” Dean demanded.

“Of course I know,” Isis growled.

Jody stepped between them. “Look, kids, our time is limited. Let's get going. We got a world that needs saving. Chop chop!”

The sky was dark, promising rain. The small crowd of people moved away leaving, at last, only Sam, Dean, and Castiel standing around, Dean still fuming at the goddesses. “Next time I wanna work with a pagan god, somebody hit me in the head, OK?”

“I volunteer,” said Sam, a bit too quickly and a bit too cheerfully.

Cas was staring off into the distance. He tended to do that, so neither of the brothers paid him much attention until he asked, “Raziel?”

There was a whisper of wings, and then a small, dark-haired woman stood among them. She was dressed in a short, translucent navy Ecouterre raincoat and pair of studded Burberry rainboots, and carrying an oversized black umbrella. “You haven't been answering my text messages, Castiel! I was going to send a raven. We've been busy, what with the Ragnarok and all, but I thought I'd pop by.”

“I apologize, sister. I have been busy as well.” He held out his bloody arms: he had still only managed to heal himself halfway.

“Oh, dabbling in pagan spells again I see,” clucked Raziel. She held out a well-manicured hand and with a zap, all of Cas's vampire scars stitched themselves up, though he was left with a tracing of faint lines over his body. “There we go,” she said, handing him a shirt that had popped into her hand.

“Something happening with the Seven Stars, angel lady?” asked Dean.

“Well, I came for your assistance, actually.” Thunder crashed, and rain began to pour down. Unfazed, Raziel snapped open her umbrella and, strangely enough, it was large enough to cover herself as well as Castiel and Dean and evan Sam (who had to stoop a little bit) from the rain. “One of those terrible portals has opened up where we live, and my husband is at his wit's end.”

“A portal to Hell?” asked Dean.

“No, dear, it's worse! We think it's a portal to _Heaven_.”

“Shit!” said Sam.

“Sammy, there's a lady present.”

Sam put his fingers through his hair. “No, I keep forgetting! Before he disappeared, Kevin texted me. You know Kevin's crazy friends in the Veil, Crank and Knobs?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, how could I forget?”

“They said there's a now portal to heaven that's opened in the Veil!”

“And you didn't think it was worth mentioning?”

“I wanted to ask your help getting rid of the nasty thing,” said Raziel. “My husband is just very old fashioned, doesn't want to get mixed up with that Judeo-Christian nonsense, no offense,” she told Castiel. “You don't have a little spell for it tucked away, do you?”

“Raziel, we need to find Metatron,” said Cas. “We think he is barricaded in Heaven.”

“Metatron? Ew!” said Raziel. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Cas is right,” said Dean. “He's what those Seven Douchebags want.”

“Raziel,” said Cas, “we will proceed-”

Dean grabbed Castiel by the shoulder and pulled him around. “Cas, you're not goin' anywhere! You're benched.”

“I am not 'benched,' Dean.”

“Cas, you're human!”

“Benched? What does that mean?” Raziel asked Sam, while Cas and Dean bickered. “Is that sports talk?” 

“Uh, yeah, sports talk,” sighed Sam.

“Like bench pressing? My husband likes to do that. He usually uses an ox! Well, unless he has a rhino handy. But you know they're getting harder to find.”

Sam whistled low. “No, 'benched' means he's putting Cas on the bench. Like a coach?”

“Oh, like a coach? All rightie.” Raziel folded up her umbrella (as the sudden downpour had stopped) and held out her hands. “Batter up!” she shouted.

And then, with a rustling of wings, they were all of them, gone.

 

Donna brought donuts.

“Sooo,” she said, picking at a powdered sugar cruller. “That gentleman over there is a vampire?”

Jody grinned as she picked over the box. She took a little plastic knife and was about to cut a maple bar in two. “Yeah, that guy's a vampire. They're all vampires.”

“You could have the whole bar, you know,” Donna told her. “I brought enough for all of us.”

Jody shrugged, but she dropped the knife, and picked up the whole damn maple bar and took a healthy bite. Donna was right, why the fuck not?

She'd brought Donna Hanscum along on this one partly to have another law enforcement official who knew a bit of the ins and outs of the supernatural along for the ride. But Jody wanted Donna here mostly just for good old fashioned moral support. So, yeah, she had brought in an army of vampires armed with bows and arrows to hunt a girl with smelly blood because she might figure in the apocalypse. 

Just one of those days.

The vampires were now swarming around Linda Tran's car. They'd pulled out various items – fast food wrappers and empty soda cans were a big matter of interest, and were now pointing off in the distance, having a rather intense discussion.

“And that fellow, with the dark hair, he a vamp?” asked Donna, who was sipping coffee from a styrofoam cup.

“What guy?” asked Jody, who was surprised when Donna grabbed her arm.

“No, no, don't look! He's been lookin' at you.”

Jody rolled her eyes. “Looking at me? Oh! Short guy, scruffy beard, funny accent?”

Donna scrunched up her face and peered at him. “Yeah, that's him.”

“No, not a vampire. He's the king of Hell.”

Donna's eyes went wide. “Get out!”

“Retired, more or less. We went on a really rotten blind date.”

“Jody! I've gotta take you out drinkin' some time soon.”

“We had goddesses around too,” said Jody, who was quite obviously trying to change the subject. “They're trying a location spell, but we left them back at the Winchester's secret bunker. I guess their spells tend to cause a lot of collateral damage.”

“Goddesses?” said Donna, who – Jody realized – obviously hadn't heard anything much past that. 

“Yeah.”

“Well I'll be a monkey's uncle!”

The Alpha vampire strode up to them. “Excuse me, ladies?” he said, adding his usual charming smile.

“Oh, uh, wanna donut?” a completely flustered Donna sputtered. “Uh, guess you don't, huh?”

“I will have to refuse your lovely gift,” the Alpha retorted, which only made Donna turn pink. Jody decided dragging her along was probably the best decision she'd made in ages. “We have inspected the car, and believe we know the direction to begin our search.”

“Well, sounds like we better get a move on!” said Donna. “You wanna round up your folks?” 

The Alpha nodded. “It's already done.” True to his word, the vampires were loading onto the little school bus Jody had appropriated for the occasion. Donna, among her other qualifications, was licensed to drive it. The Alpha courteously held out an arm and Donna, giggling like a middle school girl, grabbed onto the crook of his elbow and let him escort her down. Jody – because she was the observant type – also noticed Benny twined his hand in the hand of the one cute girl vampire – was her name Eleanor or something like that? Yes, they were out searching for for fairy blood, and love was in bloom.

“I wouldn't mind a donut.”

Jody paused, her hand still on the lid of the pink donut box. She scowled at Crowley. “Having a blood sugar dip?”

“That's a myth of course. I am merely somewhat peckish. And your pastries look....” He stared at the box for a long moment, “... _intriguing_.”

“Have you actually ever even eaten a donut, Crowley?”

“To be honest, no. What would you recommend?”

Jody opened the box back up and considered the selection. “I've always liked old-fashioned. That one.” She pointed to a chocolate-frosted donut, and Crowley selected it. He pulled off a bit and chewed. 

“This isn't all bad.”

“You gonna get on the damn bus?”

“I thought … to ride with you.”

Jody shut the box of donuts and tossed it in the back seat of her patrol car. “You did, did you?”

“There's rather a lot of vampires among the company there.”

Jody fixed Crowley with her best suspicious mom glance. “No choking charms this time.”

To his credit, Crowley lowered his eyes. “I was a different person then. A much … more stupid person. But that's still no excuse. As I have told you.”

“Tell me, did you look for a book about how to apologize?”

Crowley smiled ruefully. “Truth be told, I consulted the Moose. Sadly, he involved his brother in the proceedings. However, I was given to understand when settling such matters that everything I have _ever_ done is wrong.”

Jody shrugged. “It's a start.” She got into the patrol car and started the engine. She nodded to him, and Crowley hastened to jump into the passenger seat, and then they were off.

 

“I do apologize, the place is a mess. We've been dealing with Ragnarok, of course. And also it was the twins’ birthday. They grow up so fast!”

Dean, Cas and Sam were now following Raziel as she walked quickly through a forested realm where she had evidently flown them. Dean marveled at how fast the chick could move in heels. Not that the view was bad from the back....

“Ow! Sammy!” Dean yelled at his brother after receiving a rather painful elbow in the ribs.

They came to a clearing. Dean and Sam quit quarreling to stop and stare.

“Is that a castle?” asked Dean.

“It’s not much, but we call it home,” said Raziel, pausing beside the moat. Just at that moment, a rather huge, slimy sea beast stuck its great head out of the water, opening its huge maw to reveal double rows of sharp, ragged teeth and a forked tongue. It growled and snapped, the water roiling.

Raziel turned and smacked it on the nose with her umbrella. It backed down, whimpering.

“Now, don’t be like that, Horatio! What will I tell your Daddy? He gets so cross when you misbehave in front of guests.” 

Horatio batted its large, crimson eyes as if in apology. Raziel rolled her eyes, and then patted it on the nose. She opened her tiny purse and extracted a rather large trout, and then flung it at Horatio, who swallowed it whole and then submerged, chewing happily. The drawbridge lowered with a thump. “All right,” said Raziel, “come along and I’ll show you the Heaven’s gate.” Two rather large dogs, which were probably actually wolves, came thundering out, and Raziel patted them on their heads, encouraging Sam (an inveterate dog-lover) to do the same as Dean and Cas stood a moment, looking over the castle.

“It’s inside?” asked Dean.

“It’s in our dungeon,” Raziel called back.

“Of course chick’s got a heaven’s gate in her basement. Cas, why haven’t you brought us up here before? This place fucking rocks!”

“Raziel prefers to live quietly,” said Cas, as another moat monster breached and roared, and then slithered back underneath the water. Dean and Cas crossed the drawbridge and entered the castle’s main courtyard, where Sam was rubbing the tummy of one of the gigantic wolves while Raziel had grabbed a sword that looked bigger than she from one of the suits of armor and was demonstrating a lunge. 

“…and you see, this is how you go for the kill with a broadsword. People in the movies are always doing it wrong. Drives my husband insane. That’s why we have to see our movies on DVR, he made such a fuss last time I dragged him to a theater. Oh, there you are!” she told Dean and Cas. “Right down this way!” After hanging the sword back up with a large clang, she cheerily pointed to a dark, foreboding staircase and hurried on down, Sam and the wolves on her heels.

“What do you think, Cas? You think our dungeon is better than theirs?”

Cas didn’t answer, but instead gave Dean a puzzled look.

What they found at the bottom of the stairs though was not quite what Dean had expected. It did indeed look as if, at least at one point, it had been used as a torture dungeon, but it was brightly lit, and the walls were painted with cheery murals, and there were toys – wooden blocks and LEGO and action figures and suchlike – scattered around on the floor. “Sorry, we haven’t had a chance to tidy up,” Raziel apologized. “Kids?”

There was giggling, and then the large iron maiden pushed against one wall opened with a creak, and two children emerged, a girl who looked like a small version of Raziel, and a redheaded boy. 

“I told you two not to play there!” Raziel scolded. “You know Daddy needs to oil the hinges!”

“Sorry!” the twins giggled, although they didn’t look the least bit sorry.

“There’s a Heaven’s gate down here?” asked Sam, who had picked up a sock puppet and was pretending to walk him across a stretching rack.

“Yes, I sense it is near,” said Cas. 

“Kids, did you see where the Heaven’s gate went?” Raziel asked.

“Over here Mommy!” said the girl, and they each took Raziel by a hand and led her over to a Catherine wheel. Raziel crouched down and peeked underneath, and one of the wolves sniffed at it as well. “Oh, yes, there it is!” 

Cas was crouched beside his angelic sister. “We should go quickly,” he counseled.

“All right, that's enough. You’re not goin’ anywhere, Cas!” said Dean. “I told you, you’re benched.”

“Yes,” stated Cas, using the very lowest registers of his voice. “You told me. And I ignored you.”

“Are you sure this goes to Heaven? And not Purgatory?” asked Sam.

“Oh, you can’t get to Purgatory that easily! That’s silly,” laughed Raziel.

Dean and Cas were now crouched right in front of the entryway, arguing away. The argument itself didn’t have much substance to it, though it did cause Sam to imitate the gestures with the sock puppet, which in turn caused the twins to giggle. 

The wolves began to sniffle and whine. “Be careful,” said Raziel, who suddenly grabbed her kids just as the Heaven’s gate portal gave a growl and quite abruptly sucked Dean and Cas inside right in the middle of their bickering.

“Oh,” said Sam. “Uh, I guess I better follow them,” he told Raziel, a bit half-heartedly.

“Be careful, dear,” said Raziel. “And tell my brother to invite his darling boyfriend over for dinner some night. You could come too, of course.”

“Uh, of course,” said Sam, grinning despite the danger.

And then he jumped into the Heaven’s gate.

 

“This is it,” said the Alpha.

“This _can’t_ be it,” sighed Jody.

“Anybody want me to go back for sammiches?” Donna offered brightly. “I saw a Quiznos a few miles back!”

They were standing in the middle of a field, after spending the day meandering up and down the backroads. They stopped every half hour or so to let the vamps all disembark, get a smell, and point out a new direction. But they seemed to have hit a dead end, as evidently the trail had hit the vampiric equivalent of fording a stream.

“You think they both could be dead?” Jody whispered to Donna.

Donna’s usual smile dimmed, and she consulted her watch. “It’s been a while. But I know there’s a Mama waiting, so I’m gonna give it a while. How about you?”

“Same,” said Jody, thinking about Linda Tran, back in the bunker. She was supposedly assisting the goddesses, Isis and Nephthys, in their tracking spell, but Jody didn’t have the heart to drag her through this, especially if they didn’t find Kevin. Losing her kid twice? It was just too cruel.

Jody knew.

“Hey, is that a brushfire?” asked Donna, pointing to where some black smoke was roiling through the trees.

“You two!” Crowley shouted at Jody and Donna. “Stay back.” The archers had notched arrows.

“What is it?” Donna asked Jody. The air smelled of rotten eggs and hellfire.

“I’ve seen this before. Monsters.”

“You stayin’ back?”

“Oh hell no,” said Jody, popping the trunk of her vehicle and grabbing a shotgun.

“Me neither,” said Donna, who also grabbed some weaponry. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Jody noticed the first of the cursed creatures emerging from their fetid fog. And then Crowley was next to her, as he so often was these days. One hand poised, spider-like, over Jody’s weapons stash, and she watched. The hand came down on a sniper rifle. Interesting choice.

“I believe I just told you ladies to keep back,” Crowley muttered as he looked down the sight.

“And I believe I just said, ‘Hell no,’” Jody retorted. They glared at one another. Crowley stalked off, and Jody slammed the trunk, and gestured for Donna to follow her into the thick of it. The women soon were discharging weaponry at something that looked like a two-headed cockroach. A giant, two-headed cockroach. That also apparently spit acid. One of the vampire archers screamed and cursed.

“Jeebus Criminentlies!” Donna called. “Do silver bullets work?”

“I haven’t tried. They’ll go down with regular bullets.”

“How about gas?”

“We could try.” 

“What did you do before?”

“That angel lady took ‘em out.”

“Don’t see any angels handy.”

Jody was watching Crowley take aim at some kind of creepy dragon thing. Well, if a dragon had mated with a praying mantis. It opened its mouth, unleashed an unholy screech, and then put its head down as if to charge. 

It’s eye exploded with a gush of blood, and the thing dropped.

“Eye is vulnerable,” muttered Crowley, who was cocking his weapon.

“Aim for the eyes!” Jody shouted. The archers nodded. There was a momentary rush of optimism among the small band of warriors – the monsters were dropping. But just as suddenly, there were more of them, and still more.

“Girl, you get the feeling like we’re up spit creek without a paddle?” asked Donna.

“Or a rowboat,” Jody muttered. 

The air was pierced by a scream. “God dammit!” screamed Jeremiah the vampire, as he was about to be cut in half by something’s maw.

“Enough!” yelled Crowley. Before Jody or any of the others could restrain him, he marched right up to the rampaging monster that had ahold of Jeremiah and whacked it on the snout with his bare hand.

The monster, to everyone’s surprise, halted. It dropped Jeremiah, who was still kicking and screaming.

All of the monsters quite suddenly froze, casting bloodshot eyes and eyesockets towards the demon king.

“Do you know who I am?” Crowley thundered, his eyes quite suddenly gone red. “I’m the bloody King of Hell! And now all of you, back to your cages before I get angry!”

There was a pause, like an drawing in of foul breath.

And then one by one, the monsters receded, and faded, and were nothing, and there was nothing but the warriors and a field.

Where once the monsters had stood, there were two figures. One of them was Kevin Tran.

Standing over him was another man. Jody didn’t recognize him. It was difficult to get a fix on his features – maybe it was the remnants of the foul fog, but they seemed to be shifting.

“Who is that?” asked Donna. Jody shook her head.

“That,” said Crowley (who was standing next to her again, damn him), “is Lucifer.” 

“Lucifer like Bible Lucifer?” asked Donna.

“Yes,” said Crowley. “And he’s quite mad.”

 

“Yes, Jenny, that’s mandrake root.”

“And bloodwort! Don’t forget the bloodwort!” trilled Nephthys.

“Bloodwort,” Linda repeated into the phone.

“And some seed of Horus!” added Isis.

“Yeah, you got all that?” asked Linda as the goddesses bustled around, adding things to bowls and crushing other things in coffee grinders and lighting various stuff on fire. 

Jody Mills had convinced Linda not to go along on the manhunt, but she had been an idiot. Now she was stuck underground with these two nutty witches while somewhere, her son needed her.

Jody was kind. Straightforward. Everything the Winchesters weren’t.

She knew what Linda was going through. She had told her so.

You know what she was? She was an asshole! Linda needed to go after her son herself. It was clear anybody else would fuck it up.

_“Linda?”_

Linda realized she’d been spacing out instead of listening to Jenny Quan. “Sorry.” But she wasn’t.

_“I said, how did you want me to deliver it to you? UPS?”_

“Just gather the stuff. We’ll, uh, pick it up.” And then Linda hung up the phone without even saying goodbye. Something was bumping at her elbow. She scowled at the orange tabby cat, who evidently wanted pets. “All right, yeah, good for you, being a cat.”

“A cat?” asked Isis, who was bustling past. She stopped dead.

“Yeah, one of the kitties,” said Linda absently. The cat had started to purr as she was scratching him behind the ears. It was oddly soothing. “We brought them. The girl brought them. She saved them.”

“Sister,” whispered Isis as Nephthys came into the room. The death goddess approached the cat, staring into its eyes.

 

Sam slid along the ground and found himself suddenly staring up at a grim, iron-grey sky.

Cas reached down and yanked him to his feet, one-handed, and then went back to engaging in his favorite pastime, arguing with Dean. “I don't know where the Axis Mundi is.”

“He can help! He found Pamela!” Dean insisted. Was his brother talking about Ash?

“But we can't find him.”

“He found us last time! He's probably working on it. With his computer whatchajiggers.”

“We don't have time, Dean,” snapped Cas, “so we'll do it my way.” And then he stalked off down the path, Dean marching after him, and neither of them bothering to tell Sam what the fuck was up. 

“Figures,” Sam muttered

“You shouldn't even be here, Cas,” Dean scolded. “You're human.”

“So are you.”

“You remember what happened last time?”

“If I recall correctly, after you banished me from your midst, I assisted you on a case, and was forced to kill a distressed brother angel.” The last was said without bile, but Sam could see Dean flinch.

“Oh, so that's the issue? Cas, we've talked about this.” Dean lowered his voice. “I thought we were cool.”

“We must seek Metatron. There is no … issue.”

The path followed a stream, and they crested a small rise, Dean and Cas bickering away. “Guys!” said Sam, who had stopped dead.

“Keep up, Sammy,” Dean scolded.

“But-” 

“Sam!” Cas called. The angel looked around, but then he stopped too.

“What?” barked Dean. And then he saw, and began to run, Cas and Sam hot on his heels. 

“Be careful, Dean!” Cas cautioned.

“My baby!” Dean crowed. And it was true, there was a black 1967 Impala parked by the side of a country road. 

“They even got the old Kansas license plate right,” marveled Sam. “You know this isn't your car?”

“Good enough,” said Dean, who was already opening the driver's side door. Cas was at the passenger side. “Axis mundi?”

“Axis mundi,” said Cas.

“Hey, you didn't call shotgun!” Sam protested. But both Cas and Dean were glaring at him, so, muttering darkly, he took his seat in back. Two big brothers now? Well, that sucked!

At least the argument simmered down. Dean and Cas nodded at one another, Dean started the car, and they were off. Sam stared out the window at the threatening sky. “You guys sure we didn't fall into Purgatory by mistake.”

“This is Heaven, Sam,” said Cas, though, in typical Cas manner, he didn't elaborate. Sam stared at the trees passing by. Dean put on some tunes, and he may have nodded off for a time. He shook awake, noticing that the terrain had changed. Instead of a forest, they were now driving up the coastline. The sky was still cloudy. This was all looking somehow familiar.

“Dean!”

“Yeah, we know, Sammy,” said Dean.

Dean and Cas glanced at one another, and then Cas said, “This is the turn off.” The turn off to the playground – the Heaven's gate, and that thing in the water. 

Sam saw his brother's profile, and the determined set to his jaw. Dean drove towards the beach, towards a familiar set of dunes. He parked the car and cut the engine. Cas was already out the door.

“Cas, hold on!”

“You keep watch on Sam,” Cas ordered, and strode off.

“Cas, dammit!” As soon as they were out of the car, the truce that had seemed to have settled between Dean and Cas dissolved, and they were right back at it. Cas stalked up the dune towards the beach, but stopped dead. Sam and Dean halted right beside him.

They were at the gates to Singer Salvage. No playground, no beach, and no ocean in sight. 

“All right. This is fucking weird,” said Dean, who drew his weapon. Sam drew a gun as well, and Cas snapped his angel blade from wherever it had been up his sleeve.

This time it was Dean who took the lead. They walked though an exact replica of Bobby Singer's old place, past the junked cars and rusty parts, past a snoozing hound dog, sleeping up on the hood of a wrecked Chevy truck.

Cas was stopped in front of Bobby's front door. He extended a hand, but then Dean grabbed his arm. “Hey, you're not gonna waste mojo on that?”

“Dean, we need to enter.”

“I'll break it down.”

“This door is warded with the strength of heaven.”

“Yeah? Well I got the strength of a .45!” said Dean, flourishing his pistol.

Sam had had just about enough of this. Weaving around his brother and his stupid angel, he knocked on the door. “Hey, Bobby! It's Sam.”

“Sam!” said Dean and Cas. But to everyone's surprise, there was the sound of shuffling on the other side, some creaking, and then the door opened up. 

“Sam Winchester?” said Bobby Singer. “Is that you?”

Sam laughed and then, grinning wide, embraced Bobby in a big, back-slapping hug. 

“Uh, hey, Bobby,” said Dean, who scratched the back of his neck and gave Bobby a sort of guilty half-hug.

“Cas?” asked Bobby. And then he focused back on Dean, crossing his arms and scowling. “What the hell have you boys got yourself into now?”

The three men made their way into what looked like a pretty good replica of Bobby's old house, before the Leviathan had gotten their oily hands on it. It wasn't quite what Sam remembered – the furnishings looked more dated, and the books were less dusty. 

Dean picked up a book and leafed through it. “So, uh, what's happening, Bobby?”

The old hunter rounded on him. “You gonna tell me why when something happens, it's always you three?”

“Uh.”

“Now, what exactly have you got yourself into this time, Dean?”

Suddenly, the air was pierced by the blare of a shrill alarm.

“Oh, uh. Deep shit,” said Dean.

Seemingly oblivious to the shrieking alarm, Bobby pulled at a frayed thread on his throw rug. A door appeared, right in the middle of his living room. He yanked the door open, and it opened up to an odd, all-white world. Dean, Cas and Sam followed him. It was a hallway with door upon door upon door, seemingly stretching on for miles.

“What the hell?” said Dean.

“No,” said Cas. “It's Heaven.”

“Look at the nameplates,” said Sam. The door across the way was marked Bobby Singer, as was the one next to it. Then there was Robert Singer, Roberto Singer, and another Bobby Singer, all up and down the row.

“This is how it's organized now?” asked Dean.

Cas rolled his eyes. “Hannah.”

Bobby ambled down the hall and knocked politely on a door marked, Roberto Singer. The resident opened the door, and they had a brief conversation in Spanish. Roberto went to grab something in his room, and then took a pair of pliers to something that looked like a fuse box. He popped it open, twisted some wires, and the alarm abruptly ceased.

_“Muchos gracias!”_ said Bobby.

_“De nada,”_ said Roberto, who nodded gruffly at Sam and Dean and Cas. Down the hallway, a couple other Bobby Singers had popped their heads out of their rooms, perhaps alerted by the alarm.

“So, what business you boys got up here?” asked Bobby.

“Uh, we're not dead, if that's what you're wondering,” said Dean.

“Then what the hell are you doing up here, boy? It ain't your time.” Roberto Singer, too, glared at them.

“We're looking for an angel.”

“Why the hell would you wanna do that? They're assholes, most of 'em.”

_“Los angeles,”_ muttered Roberto, shaking his head.

“No offense, Cas,” Bobby added.

“None taken,” said Cas. “We are currently seeking a rogue angel named Metatron.”

“He stole Cas's grace!” said Dean.

“And murdered Dean,” added Cas. “He has been imprisoned up here.”

Bobby and Roberto looked at each other. _“Cabron,”_ muttered Roberto. Some of the other Bobby's were getting nearer, listening in.

Bobby peered at Dean. “But you're still alive? After bein' murdered?”

“Long story.”

“I imagine it is.”

Cas had been scowling around at the various other Bobby Singers gathered in the hallway. “Why are all these souls out of their Heavens?”

“Well,” said Bobby. “Things been strange here. Some of us, we got out, and we found we liked visitin'.”

“What's going on, Bobby?” inquired a tall, female Bobby Singer, raising an immaculately-plucked eyebrow.

“Looking for an asshole angel,” grumbled a lush-bearded Bobby Singer, who had been hovering close by.

“Aren't they all assholes?” A great round of muttering and grumbling and griping rose up amongst the Bobbies.

“These boys are my friends,” Bobby Singer explained. “They came up here because they need help.”

“It's bad down there, Bobby,” said Sam, who, taking a breath, decided to address the assembled grumbling souls. “Look, we got a war going on. These ancient fallen angels have gotten loose. They're nasty – they've already killed Cas.”

“What, you too?” Bobby asked Cas, who shrugged. He turned to the other Winchester. “You died yet, Sam?”

“Uh, no.”

“Idjits. But none of you are dead now?”

“No.”

A few more Bobby Singers had poked their heads out, and there was more muttering and grumbling and griping. “These fallen angels – they’re after Metatron,” Sam put in, hoping to keep the discussion somewhat on topic.

“That's true. These angel guys weren't douches!” said Dean. “They were the good guys. They were trying to help us – help humanity. And Metatron sold them out.”

“But now we have been locked out of Heaven,” said Cas. 

“It wasn’t really your home any more, anyway,” grumbled an officious, grey-haired Bobby Singer. Cas glared at him.

“Things have been powerful strange ‘round here lately, boys,” said Bobby (the original Bobby). “Things not being taken care of, like they used to.”

“We need to go seek out the angels,” said Cas. “We need to find Hannah.”

“Well, we went lookin’ for ‘em. Some of us folks went out. All we found was an empty office. It was like you heard tell about the _Mary Celeste_ – cups of coffee still out on the desks, paper still in the fax machines, like they was comin’ back in a minute.”

“Did you see a prison cell?”

“Empty,” said Bobby. The other Bobbys nodded.

“If they’re not in their offices, where the hell are they?” asked Dean. And, as if on cue, the members of Team Free Will all looked back into the doorway to Bobby Singer’s heaven. 

Cas strode towards the door and peered into Bobby’s heaven. “The Axis Mundi. I must pursue them.”

“Well you’re not going anywhere without me!” Dean protested.

“Yeah, yeah, all of us are going,” said Sam.

“Sounds like a road trip!” said Bobby. And suddenly, Roberto was chatting away in Spanish with Bobby. The other Bobbys were muttering as well.

“Uh, what?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam grinned. “Sounds like we’re gonna have some company.”

 

“Lucifer? Like, from the bible?” asked Donna.

“The very same,” said Crowley.

“And that's Kevin Tran?” Jody inquired, trying to stay professional.

“Yes,” said Crowley.

“Kevin Tran? Are you all right?” Jody yelled.

“Uh, define all right?” Kevin yelled back. He and Lucifer were standing in the middle of the area where the demon fog had erupted. Lucifer was standing in back of the boy, one hand gripped on his shoulder.

“Can you guys take him out,” Jody whispered to the Alpha, who stood nearby, scowling.

“None of my people have a clear shot,” he told her quietly, nodding to Lenore. “Can we perhaps keep him talking?”

Jody turned back to Lucifer. “We just want to talk here,” she hollered at Lucifer. She holstered her weapon and then held up her hands and approached him. She wasn’t really sure what the heck she was dealing with here. She figured he could probably smite her just as well far away as up close. To her relief, Donna came forward as well, keeping her shotgun pointed at the ground.

“What is he, anyway?” whispered Donna. It was difficult to tell. His features were really difficult to get a fix on. Sometimes he looked like a scarred up blond man. Sometimes, he had the face of a monster. And sometimes….

“He look like … Sam Winchester to you?” Donna asked.

Jody nodded. Shit, yeah! That was weird. She tried to clear her head. “Why don’t you let the boy go, and we’ll talk?” 

Fortunately, Lucifer came in focus as the scarred blond guy. “Where's that little shit? You've got him, haven't you? I want his head!”

“Who's he talkin' about?” asked Donna.

“The little demon? That salesman? Where is he?” Lucifer bellowed. “I'll tear his skin off and feed it to him.” Instead of easing up on Kevin, he clutched him tighter, and now a ragged fingernail was at the boy's neck.

“I'm here,” said Crowley, who had just popped up at Jody's elbow. “Do you propose a trade agreement? I could draw up a simple contract.”

But instead of seeming mollified, Lucifer was set reeling, from Sam face to blond face to demon face to no face at all, all the time pressing in Kevin, tighter and tighter.

“Crowely! Get out of here! You're pissing him off,” Jody muttered to him.

“He wants me,” Crowley told her.

“He's nuts! Can't you see that?”

“He was always a bit off. I would be a little barmy after spending time in a cage with that wanker Michael.”

“OK, I don't wanna know about this.”

“I will put stakes in his eyes and set them afire!” Lucifer raved.

“You sure have a way with people,” Jody muttered to Crowley. 

“Help!” whimpered Kevin.

There was a twang, and everybody froze. 

Lucifer stood, holding an arrow an inch in front of his eye, where he had snatched it from mid-air.

“Fuck me,” said Jeremiah, who had just loosed the arrow.

Lucifer dropped the arrow. And then he snapped his fingers.

Jeremiah was now a pile of ash.

“You're nothing! Nothing! Just a spell!” yelled Lucifer. There was a blinding flash of light. Jody threw an arm up over her eyes just before she felt herself thrown to the ground.

 

The charge of the Bobby Singer army. 

Dean grinned and glanced over at Cas, sitting beside him. 

Sammy had opted to drive another vehicle. They'd gotten several of Bobby's heavenly junkers running, and now were driving in a caravan down the Axis Mundi, in search of rogue angels.

Hey, not the weirdest thing they'd ever done. Or maybe it was? Didn't matter. 

Heaven sucked and angels sucked and this whole business sucked but here he was, driving his baby in the desert with his angel by his side, and things didn't, overall suck.

Too bad there weren't any roadside diners in hell! This would be a great time for a burger-

“Dean! Stop!”

Dean glanced in the rear view to make sure Sammy wasn't following too close, and, waving an arm out the open window, brought the caravan to a halt.

“What is it, Cas?” But the angel was already out of the car, searching the sky.

Several old cars and trucks came squalling and screeching to a halt, old brakes protesting and squeaking. There were a couple of doors slammed. Sam was out, and so was Bobby Singer – their Bobby Singer, that is. Bobby was driving an old flatbed with a couple of motorcycles parked on the bed. They hadn't been sure what they would find, so they had taken pretty much anything that would run. 

“What's goin' on?” Bobby asked. “Don't see no gas stations, can't exactly ask for directions!”

“I think his angel radar pinged or whatever,” Dean explained. He wasn't exactly sure, to be honest, and Cas wasn't the chattiest guy. He ambled over to stand next to Cas, and scanned the sky to see if he could spot anything where Cas seemed to be staring. He didn’t see anything, which wasn’t a surprise, as the sky was steel grey with roiling clouds. He glanced at Cas. The angel’s eyes appeared unfocused. And wasn’t he looking a bit pale?

“What is it, Cas?” Dean asked.

Cas gasped.

And collapsed to the ground.

“Oh, not again,” muttered Dean.


	9. King of Monsters

Cas was convulsing, having a fit.

_What were you supposed to do for a fit again?_

“Don’t let him swallow his tongue,” opined a Bobby Singer.

“That’s bullshit,” said another Bobby Singer.

_Too many Bobbys._

Dean knelt on the rough desert sands of Heaven, cradling Cas’s head in his lap while the angel's body was wracked by spasms. “Cas, what-“

“Get back!” Cas screamed, desperately wresting his way out of Dean’s lap. Dean sat, transfixed: a bright blue glow was now emanating from Cas, starting in the center of his chest, slowly roiling outwards.

“Dean!” Sam was there, dragging him back. “We’re re-gracing again. Move it!”

“Cas?” whispered Dean as his brother hauled him out of range.

Thunder rumbled, and Cas was no longer Cas – he was air, and wind and fire and song and glory and thunder and everything and nothing.

Then everything that was Castiel whirled into a shape, a huge form with three heads and six black wings, expansive and terrible as the universe. The form whirled, and spun off smaller bodies, like small blue planets circling a fiery sun.

But then, in the blink of an eye, he was Cas again. Just Cas. 

Although now he sported a rather impressive pair of black-feathered wings. He gave them an experimental flap, sleek feathers shining, and smiled in a contented fashion. “My wings,” he said, eyes shining. “It is so good to have them back again.”

Dean was at his side. “Cas? You OK?”

Cas positively beamed. And then he grabbed Dean and swept him into a passionate kiss, wrapping his arms and wings around him.

“Uhhhh,” grunted Bobby Singer, squinting at the spectacle. (The original Bobby Singer, in case this is the source of some confusion.) “I miss something?” 

“Yeah, kind of,” Sam confessed as a bunch of Bobby's not muttered. He shuffled his feet and gazed at his brother and his angel. “Uh, but I think the wings are new?”

Dean and Cas had broken their embrace. “Don’t scare me like that again, babe!” Dean chastised, one hand still clutching Cas's ass.

Cas stared at Dean. “My grace has returned, Dean.” He turned around to regard group of figures that had just appeared, clustered around him.

“I somehow don’t think this is Purgatory,” said the Alpha, as he and the rest of the vampires who been resurrected by the goddess's spell now gathered around.

“What the hell?” asked Dean.

“Is this Hell?” inquired the Alpha.

“Nearly,” said Bobby. “This here is Heaven. And what are you supposed to be? Hey, don't I know you, gal?” he asked Lenore.

“They’re vampires,” Sam told him. “Friends.”

Bobby fixed Sam with a thunderous scowl. “Vamps? Are your friends? Boy, when this is all over, we need to talk.”

“I believe they … followed me here,” said Cas, pointing towards them with one broad wing. “As my grace had become intertwined with the Goddess's spell.”

“Yes,” said the Alpha. “We were successful in our pursuit. Along with Sheriff Mills and Sheriff Hanscum, we managed to locate Kevin Tran. Unfortunately, in the end, we ran afoul of Lucifer. That is apparently how we ended up here.” All of the vampires turned and glared at Jeremiah, who attempted to look innocent.

“Whoa, Luci managed to get out of hell?” asked Dean.

“He apparently carries some grievance against Crowley?” said the Alpha.

“Ha! Lucifer versus Crowley?” said Sam. “Who the hell do you even root for there?”

“Crowley!” Dean told him. “You root for Crowley. He was with Jody.” He turned to the Alpha. “So you found Kevin? And the girl?”

“We located the boy, but not the girl.”

“What girl?” asked Bobby.

“We think she’s an angel. Or half angel,” Dean explained.

“What?”

Cas had been standing off by himself, staring at the sky again. “I believe I know where Metatron has gone,” he said. 

“Where?” asked Dean. Before he could say anything more, Cas was reaching out to him, and Dean was no longer there.

“Oh, what the hell are they doin' now?” wailed Bobby Singer. 

_“Locos,”_ muttered Roberto Singer, shaking his head.

 

“You've gotta quit doing that,” said Jody as Crowley helped her to her feet.

“Doing what?” asked Crowley.

“Saving me!”

“God dammit Jeremiah!” Benny raged. He was staring around at where the other vampires had stood – the ones brought back by the goddess’s spell. Every single one of them had been reduced to small piles of ash. “That asshole burnt my damn girlfriend. We still had a few more hours on the spell!”

“Benny!” hissed Jody. “Please, calm down.”

“Love is important,” Crowley protested. “All of us deserve love.” And then he looked significantly at Jody.

“Dammit,” said Jody. “I told you to stop that.”

“OK, what exactly is going on between you two because I gotta know!” said Donna, glancing eagerly between the two.

“Hey, some help up here?” came Kevin’s strangled cry. Lucifer had tightened his grip. 

“Give me that little salesman or the boy dies!” raged Lucifer.

“I need to do the noble thing here,” Crowley told Jody. “Believe me, I don't wish to.”

Jody scowled at him. “All right. All right. I don't wish you to, either. You asshole.”

Crowley smiled and Donna whistled. “Shut up, Donna,” Jody muttered.

Crowley approached Lucifer, holding his hands up. “Now, you need to release the boy.”

“Does this mean I'm gonna owe you one, Crowley?” called Kevin.

“Afraid so.”

“God dammit.”

“Let Kevin go now,” said Jody in her best Mom voice. “Lucifer, it's all good. Crowley is surrendering to you. You can release Kevin now.”

“We simply need to settle some terms,” said Crowley. He put a hand in his pocket, and extracted a scroll. He let it roll out to the ground. And roll and roll and roll. “You'll find it's just a standard contract.”

Lucifer glared. “Bring it here.”

Carefully, Crowley drew nearer him, holding out the contract. Lucifer pushed Kevin roughly back behind him, and the boy tumbled to the ground. Lucifer reached out for the contract, but then grabbed Crowley's arm, yanking him forward, and running him through with an angel blade. The demon crumpled to the ground in a pool of blood.

Donna and Jody gasped. “You asshole,” muttered Benny.

“That's not a propitious beginning to our relationship,” grumbled Crowley, who was now standing, perfectly alive, just a few feet away.

“What did you do?” wailed Lucifer, toeing the dead Crowley, who disappeared in a puff of smoke. “You can't trick _me!_ ”

“I just did. You know, bloody King of Hell?”

“I am the rightwise King of Hell!” Lucifer was growing agitated. His faces began morphing and melting into one another. 

“Lucifer! Get ahold of yourself,” Crowley snapped.

“You're not Crowley! You're tricking me!”

“Oh for Christ's sakes, nobody's tricking you, you asshole,” yelled Benny

“You're a faker!”

Crowley sniffed and wiped imaginary dust from his sleeves. “I'm not, you bloody little spoiled brat.”

“I'm not spoiled! Take it back.”

“Guys!” said Jody.

“I'll kill you all!” raved Lucifer, red-faced and roaring. “Liars! Traitors! In-”

But the last word never made it from his mouth. Lucifer gasped, and then light poured from his eyes. There was a blast wave, and he dropped to the floor, revealing Gabriel standing behind him, wielding a bloody angel sword.

“Sorry, bro. You were overacting.”

“Gabriel?” asked Crowley.

“Just call me Gabe Ex Machina!” the trickster laughed, pulling Kevin to his feet. “The cat warned the goddesses about Luci's plans. So they told my sister and my sister told me.”

“The cat?” asked Jody. “What cat?”

“So I owe _you_ one?” Kevin asked Gabe.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” Kevin shot a mocking glance at Crowley, whose attention seemed to be directed elsewhere.

Gabriel looked around. “All right, we got the prophet kid, so where's the girl?”

“We don't know,” Jody told him.

Gabriel's smile dropped. “What? You lost the girl? How the hell did you do that?”

“I don't know,” said Kevin. “She was there, and then she wasn't”

“I kept her safe for two thousand years!” Gabriel thundered. “You couldn't watch her for like _five minutes_?”

“Gabriel,” said Crowley, who was now pointing into the forest. “Is that one of yours?” 

The ground shook as something very large was obviously coming their way, emerging from the woods.   
As people drew back, a huge reptilian monster tore it's way through the forest and emerged into the clearing, stomping and snorting and generally make in a fuss.

Gabriel stood his ground, glaring up. “No, this ain't my Godzilla. What the fuck?”

“Kevin!” came a small, British-accented voice from up atop the prehistoric monster. “Oh, Kevin, thank goodness we've found you!”

Kevin peeked out from where Jody had been standing in front of him (and Crowley had been shielding Jody). “Knobs? Is that you, man?” he shouted up.

Two men climbed down off the monstrous creature's back, a dark skinned man and a ginger-haired man. “Yes, Kevin,” said Knobs. “We're having a spot of trouble back in the Veil, so we determined to seek your assistance.”

“Though we're usually not ones for socializing,” added Crank. “Union rules.”

“Yes, indeedy,” said Knobs.

“You guys managed to break out of the Veil?” asked Kevin. 

“These dudes are from the Veil?” asked Gabe. “I think this is against the rules! Not that I'm one for followin' rules.”

“This kind of thing would never have passed muster back when I was running Hell,” sighed Crowley.

“Kids these days,” Gabriel commiserated. “No respect!”

“Guys,” said Kevin, casting an impatient glance at the angel and the demon.

“Well, to be brief about it-” Knobs began.

“Because brevity is the soul of wit!” Crank added.

“Well said! By the way, is there any place close where we might get a spot of tea?”

“You can't get decent tea in the States,” Crowley told him. 

“Dash it all,” muttered Knobs. “And we are a bit soggy from our passage. We burst through from the Veil with this chap,” he added pointing up to Godzilla, who was contenting himself by gnawing on the school bus. 

“This is so going on my Facebook,” said Donna, who had grabbed her phone to snap a picture of the monster.

“You characters escaped from the Veil?” asked Gabriel.

“Yes, the separation has gotten rather thin in places,” said Crank. “So Knobs here thought, why not give it a go?”

Knobs puffed up his skinny chest with pride. 

“All right, all right,” said Benny. “Some of us have had a long day here. You fellas suppose you could get around to the point?”

“Rude,” muttered Crank.

“Americans,” said Knobs.

“He's right,” said Jody. “And can you get that thing to quit eating my school bus!” she added, pointing to where Godzilla was now using the school bus as a chew toy.

“Now, now, Zilly, get that out of your mouth!” chided Crank. “You don't know where it's been.”

“We've had gates to Hell opening up into the Veil, that's how we've been populating our game,” said Knobs.

“Yeah, I remember,” said Kevin. “And just before Lucifer got us, you told me you'd also seen doorways to Heaven now.”

“Not just that! One of them popped open, and rather a lot of angels were inserted into the Veil.”

“Angels? Lowering the property values, one would think,” snarked Crowley, to a dirty look from Gabriel.

“They've been rather making a stink, wanting revenge on someone named Metatron?”

“Yeah. We all wanna get that guy,” Gabriel confessed. 

“You want help with the angels?” asked Kevin.

“We need help in locating someone for them. They seem to think the key to all this is girl – a girl who's part angel?”

Everyone was silent for a moment. Except Godzilla, who was finally persuaded to plonk down the school bus.

Five people all started talking at once. “Wait, everybody!” said Jody. “So the angels think this girl – Wendy - is in the Veil?”

“She prefers Wednesday,” said Kevin.

“That's what the angels are saying. They do tend to rattle on,” Knobs told them.

“Angels will do that,” said Crowley. “Revelation this, revelation that.”

“I'll go back with you,” said Gabriel. “She's my concern.”

“You of all people are responsible for a child?” asked Crowley.

“Hey, turn down the snark, Horns,” Gabriel told him. “As if you're some kinda role model?”

“I am a father,” said Crowley, his eyes narrowing.

“Have you seen him in the last century?”

“Um.” Crowley's eyes flashed towards Jody. 

“I'll head back with ya, too,” said Benny. 

Gabriel grinned. “Well, thanks dude! You didn't need to volunteer.”

“Ain't much left here for me right now,” said the vampire. “Besides, when's the likes of me ever gonna get to see the Veil?”

“Let's mount up, guys,” said Gabriel. “And somebody rustle up Isis and Nephthys.”

“Another location spell?” sighed Crowley.

“See if you can locate the girl. Now that we know she's in the Veil, that might give them a head start.”

“Heel, Zilly!” shouted Crank. Godzilla plopped down on his belly and glared at them. And then he roared, which sent people toppling over. 

Benny marched on over and whacked Godzilla on the nose. “Hey! That's enough of that.”

Godzilla whimpered.

“You gotta let 'em know who's boss,” Benny told Crank. 

“Come on!” said Gabriel. He and Benny, along with Crank and Knobs, clambered up on Godzilla's back, and they went crashing off.

Jody watched them rumble off as Donna madly updated her social networking page. “We gotta call your mom, kiddo,” she told Kevin.

“Oh. Uh, could _you_ call her for me, Jody?” Kevin asked. “Please?”

“What?” asked Jody, pulling out her phone.

“The young man's mother is a … formidable lady,” said Crowley.

“That's one way of putting it,” sighed Kevin as Jody dialed.

 

Dean found he had been transported to a mountaintop. “Don’t do that without warning me!” he groused to Cas.

“I needed to stretch my wings,” Cas explained, giving them a good flap. “I am glad to have them back.”

“Yeah, dude, I'm glad too. And Sam would agree on the regular exercise crap. But we've got stuff to do, remember?”

“I believe I may have located Metatron.” Cas might have smiled. But then he pointed down to the plains below the ridge, towards a somehow very familiar sight. Down below, in the middle of the desert wastes, walled by stacks of tire and scraps of sheet metal, an oil rig slowly pumped away, while arrayed around were the pipes and gaskets of a makeshift refinery. 

Dean walked to the edge of the cliff and crouched down, gazing in wonder. “Damn! I've seen that movie.”

“So has Metatron,” said Cas. He stood next to Dean, his wings blowing in the breeze. “Which means I have, in a way.”

Dean goggled. “Metatron thinks he's Max Rockatansky? But the Road Warrior is a good guy!”

Cas looked thoughtful. “Metatron tends to see himself as a protagonist in his own story.”

Dean stood up, his knees popping. “And you know what that makes us?”

“If you recall the denouement of this film, then you will see our best strategy for waylaying him.”

Dean tilted his head in a very Cas-like gesture. “I like you with wings.”

“I always have wings. Well, almost always.” Cas spread his wings out. “You can't necessarily see them.” He peered at Dean. “But aren't we getting distracted, as you counseled against?”

Dean smiled. He stepped closer to Cas, put a hand at his waist, and kissed him. “You're right,” he said. “Dammit. We better get back.”

 

“Crank and Knobs,” said Kevin.

“Crank and … who?” asked Linda Tran, who was on the phone with her (apparently) alive again son. 

“Crank and Knobs. They told us where the girl is!”

“I don't understand,” said Linda. Things had been happening too fast. Jody had called with the happy news about Kevin, but then everyone was immediately babbling about the girl who had been with them. Linda found it hard to remember that there even was a girl with them. Something about the cats? All of it seemed hazy. 

But now they were all urgently looking for Wendy. Why?

“Wendy,” said the demon Crowley, who was quite suddenly standing next to Linda in the bunker. “We need Isis and Nephthys to crank out one of their unnecessarily complicated location spells for her. We know where she is: she is hiding in the Veil.”

Linda blinked at Crowley. “Where did you come from?”

“It doesn't matter!”

“Yes it does. Were you with my son?”

Crowley's face softened. “Kevin? Yes.”

Linda planted her feet and glared. “And you didn't think to bring him along with you?”

Crowley crossed his arms. “My good woman, time is short-”

Linda's eyes darkened. “Go and get Kevin. Now!”

Crowley opened his mouth to make a retort, but apparently thought better of it. He disappeared, and reappeared a moment later with a stunned looking Kevin, who was immediately engulfed in a tight hug.

Crowley rolled his eyes and made a big show of being annoyed. “Yes, all right, all right, and now may we please obtain some goddesses on the line?”

“Isis!” hollered Linda. “Nephthys!”

“I could have done that!” snapped Crowley. And then the goddesses appeared, and a new round of hug commenced, which further annoyed the demon.

“Women,” he grumbled.

 

The bus that made up the gateway to the makeshift refinery lurched backwards, and several vehicles emerged – motorcycles circling like wasps around a tanker truck. The small convoy tore off down the road like the devil himself was after them.

What followed was not the devil, but the nearest thing: a mob of half-wrecked cars, driven by Bobbys and Roberts and Robertos, all of them in a surly mood, plus a raft of equally angry vampires astride motorcycles. Engines roared as the pursuit tore on, barreling down the lonely highway.

In time, the vehicles grew smaller, and the roar dimmed to a hum, and then there was once again no sound but the relentless desert wind.

Another sound crossed the desert: the school bus's ancient engine once again chugged to life, and the vehicle pulled away from the refinery and exited to the highway, turning the opposite direction that the fleeing oil tanker had taken. 

It didn't get far, as a dark-winged angel dropped down from up high and stood right in front of it. The Impala rumbled out too, and Dean and Sam emerged. 

“Was that really Mel Gibson driving the truck?” Dean asked Metatron, who Cas had roughly dragged off the school bus and was now holding up by the scruff of the neck.

“How did you figure it out?” Metatron whined.

“As you had seen the movie, so had I, Metatron,” Cas explained. 

“Well, shit. Though I suppose at least this ending will stop them making Thunderdome,” Metatron reasoned.

“There's already a fourth installment,” Sam told him with a smirk. “It has a feminist subtext.”

This seemed to enrage Metatron. “What? Why the hell would you get feminism mixed up in Mad Max? That's ridiculous!”

“We don't have time for your crap now, Metatron,” said Dean.

“What did you do with the angels, Metatron?” Cas demanded.

“They're fine. They're- Wait, what's that?” He pointed off in the distance.

“Metatron, we ain't fallin' for that old trick,” said Dean.

“No, look!” said Sam, his eyes going wide. There was a crack in the world, like a glitch in the matrix, and a few beings were tearing their way through. It looked like they were pushing themselves through a tear in the bottom of a plastic bag.

A dark-haired man was one of the first to emerge. He spotted the little group and strode over. “Castiel!”

Cas broke into a smile. “Hannah!”

“Hannah?” asked Dean, regarding the man-shaped angel. “Wait that stab-happy chick? Has she changed her make-up?” Sam elbowed him in the ribs.

The angels were pointing at Cas and whispering to one another. Hannah frowned at Cas, and then averted her eyes. “Castiel, you are wearing your wings?” she whispered.

Cas gave a lazy flap to his broad, dark wings, staring at a wingtip. “Yes. They were returned to me when a spell wore off. That is why I am wearing them.”

“You need to put them away. There are _humans_ here!”

Cas shrugged. “I prefer them out, thank you. I've always found the taboo a bit … odd.”

Dean smiled. “I like 'em too,” he said, and Cas actually broke into a rare full smile. 

Hannah and the small group of angels around her grumbled amongst themselves. Dean found it odd that angels appeared to dislike wings. But angels were bizarre. Finally, Hannah said, “I see you've recaptured Metatron.”

“Where were you, Hannah?” asked Cas as more and more angels squirmed through the widening hole. “Metatron said he banished you.”

“Another of his tricks!” stormed Hannah. “We've been trapped in the Veil.”

“I stranded them all in the Veil this time,” Metatron mocked. “You ninnies! But I thought I shut the door.”

“The separation between worlds is growing ever thinner, and we were able to push through. Castiel, whatever is going on down on earth?”

“The Seven Stars.”

Hannah covered her mouth, and the other angels gathered around suddenly quieted down.

“You see?” said Metatron. “You were safer my way! Tucked into the Veil. Now who knows what's going to happen?”

“You will die for your treachery, Metatron,” said Hannah.

“Hannah! You can't do your stabbing thing on this dude!” said Dean. “We need to get him to the Seven Stars. Alive and whining!”

“I'm not going anywhere!” said Metatron.

Cas yanked him closer. “You don't have a choice.”

“Oh yeah? Look there!” There were shouts coming from the door between worlds. Instead of the steady march into Heaven, people were now getting rather rude, pushing and shoving and yelling and generally trampling one another. It was like Black Friday at Walmart.

“Looks like a Who concert,” muttered Dean.

“Those are not angels,” said Cas. They were not. They were, rather, the souls from the Veil, who had apparently discovered that the back door to Heaven worked just as effectively for them as for the angels. 

“They are souls from the Veil,” said Hannah. 

“Did you think about closing the damn door after you?” Dean demanded.

Several individuals now pointed towards the small group gathered around Metatron. “Is that him?” someone shouted. “Is that Metatron?”

“Oh, shit,” said Dean, which summed up the situation nicely. He grabbed Hannah's shoulder “Hannah, dammit, what did you tell them?” he demanded.

“The truth! That Metatron had locked them in the Veil.”

Dean goggled. “You told them all _the truth?_ ”

“She doesn't know about humans, Dean,” Cas confided.

“Stop!” Hannah ordered the agitated souls, who had formed the beginnings of a mob and were rushing towards them. Several of the angels formed up around her, and attempted to block the mass of aggrieved human souls who were now swarming towards Metatron, intent for blood. But there were a lot of humans now – and more every minute – and relatively few angels. The human souls were already breaking through, rushing towards Metatron.

“Get him into the bus!” yelled Dean. Pulling in his wings, Cas hauled Metatron back up into the bus. “We'll hold 'em off.”

The mob was breaking through the angels and rushing towards Metatron. Several angry souls launched themselves at the bus, shrieking and cursing Metatron, who was peeping at them from the window, until Cas knocked him down. 

Dean and Sam tried to hold off the mob, but weren't doing much better than the angels.

“Cas!” Dean shouted. “Take the bus! You gotta get Metatron to the Stars!”

“But Dean-”

“Shut up and drive!” And to emphasize his point, Dean slammed the door shut.

Castiel slid into the driver's seat and started the school bus. There was a crash as someone broke another window: evidently word was spreading in the Veil, and some of the souls were now coming armed with bricks and rocks.

Cas got the bus in drive and started to pull away. “Hurry, you idiot!” hissed Metatron. Cas didn't even have to turn around to punch Metatron in the face. He glanced up in the rear view mirror, but it didn't look good. The bus came up over a small rise, and Cas slammed on the brakes.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Metatron whined.

The Bobby Singer army was returning. Along with the vampire bikers, of course. Cas hopped out of the bus and waved excitedly. 

The one and only original Bobby Singer pulled up in his rattletrap truck. “Never did catch that Mel Gibson fella. See you grabbed Metatron. Where's the boys?”

“We need your help! They're fighting souls from the Veil!”

“What are you doing, Castiel?” groused Metatron, from the bus's doorway. “You need to transport me away! Precious cargo here.”

Cas stormed back into the bus, punching Metatron in the jaw on the way in, and slammed it into gear. He turned around and roared back to where a small party of angels plus the Winchesters were slowly being overwhelmed by a surging tide of angry souls freshly escaped from the Veil. Cas slammed the bus's brakes and leapt out into the fray. Meanwhile, the Bobby Singers and vampires rode to meet the mob of human souls.

Sam had been knocked to the ground, and Dean was trying to keep his attackers from overwhelming him. Cas jumped into the middle of the melee.

“Cas what the hell?” said Dean. “What about Metatron?”

“I brought some assistance. How is Sam?”

“Get him out of here!” yelled Dean as Cas grabbed the younger Winchester.

“I'm fine!” Sam protested, though he was unsteady and bleeding. 

“I said get him out!” yelled Dean.

But there was a surge of souls, seemingly pressing them now from all sides. 

Cas extended his wings, and threw them over the brothers. But now the souls were piling on top of them. Cas hugged the Winchesters to himself, but the weight of souls pressed him down, heavier and heavier.

 

“We just need to get up a good head of steam!” said Knobs.

“Yeah,” Gabe, who was watching Godzilla rolling on his back amongst the flowers. Needless to say, they hadn’t made it back to the Veil yet, as their transport had proved a trifle unreliable. The doorway to the Veil stood at the edge of the field, but their mount had seen it and, sadly, shied away. And efforts to penetrate the doorway without him had proved fruitless.

“Just my opinion, mind,” said Benny, “but he don’t seem much interested in runnin’. Or even movin’ much.” The vampire was sitting in the shade of a stump. He took off his cap and waved it to chase away some hovering gnats. 

“Zilly, heel!” scolded Crank. The King of Monsters responded by sniffing at a butterfly that had landed on his snout.

“You just gotta convince him who’s boss,” said Benny.

“You got any ideas, Fangs, now’s the time,” said Gabe. 

“Ain’t you supposed to be one of them super-powerful angel fellas, Feathers?” Benny riposted. 

“Yeah, but I don’t have a whole lot of experience with kaiju,” Gabe explained. “Hey, I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

Godzilla rolled onto his back, his giant tail whipping on the ground, putting up dust. 

“Really, we had no trouble at all on the way out,” fussed Knobs, who sneezed.

“It's probably union rules of some kind,” fussed Crank, handing his partner a hanky.

“Benny, seriously, a little help here?” pleaded Gabe.

The vampire chuckled and got himself to his feet. “Well, all right. I ain’t kept no lizards before, but I’ve had horses. Miserably damn critters, let me tell ya. Let’s give ‘er a try.” He planted his feet. “Zillah, get your ass up! Now, goddammit!”

A bit to everyone’s surprise, Godzilla rousted himself and stood up, staring at Benny expectantly. “Aweome!” said Gabe.

“Folks, get your asses onboard, and hang on,” Benny ordered. Crank, Knobs, Gabe and Benny climbed up on the monster’s back and found places to cling to the prominent spines on his back. 

“Giddap!” yelled Benny, emphasizing the command with a kick from his heel. Godzilla reared back and snorted, and at first everyone was convinced he would simply buck them off, but then he began running for the doorway. 

“Hang on!” Gabe shouted. They thundered towards the portal and then, in a burst of light and energy, passed between worlds.

But they did not end up quite where they had expected. 

“This is the Veil?” asked Benny, as they all stared in wonder at the desert wasteland that stretched around them.

“In answer to your question,” said Knobs, “most assuredly, not.”

“What’s that over there?” asked Crank, pointing to a crowd of people and vehicles off in the distance.

“Shit, I think I know where we are,” said Gabriel. “Benny, can you make this thing take us over there?”

At Benny’s urging, Godzilla ran over towards the altercation. It seemed to be the aftermath of some great skirmish. As they drew nearer they could see a lot of junker cars and motorcycles around, and injured people – no, souls – lying on the ground.

A figure broke off from the crowd came running towards them. “Stop him!” somebody cried. He was short and rumpled and puffing hard. A few people went running after him.

Godzilla leaned over, snapped up the screaming figure, and ate him.

“What the hell?” yelled Bobby Singer. “That thing just ate Metatron!”

“Was that Metatron?” asked Gabriel, who was already climbing off the creature’s back. “Eh, I never liked him.”

“We were supposed to get him to the Seven!” Bobby told him.

“Oops,” said Gabe, as Benny dropped down beside him. 

“So, this ain’t the Veil?” asked Benny.

“No, boy, this is Heaven!” Bobby told him.

“It sure is!” said Benny, whistling low as a group of vampires drew near, including Lenore. “Girl, I thought I’d never see you again!”

Lenore gave him a kiss. “But what are you doin' in heaven, darlin'?

“We don't know. We think we were all dragged along with Castiel's grace when Lucifer killed us,” she told him. 

“Cas!” said Gabe. “Where's my bro?”

“We're not sure about that, either,” said Bobby. “Last we saw, he dove in to help Sam and Dean, but by the time we got the mob of souls off the, all three of them were gone.”

“Dammit, I still gotta get to the Veil,” said Gabe.

Bobby swung around and pointed to a doorway that was now guarded by a large contingent of angels and vampires and Bobby Singers. “That’s the door to the Veil right over there, kid. Though you may have to talk your way through the crowd.”

“Is this _Heaven_ , then?” asked Knobs, who was still sitting up on Godzilla’s spiny back.

“A bit naff, innit?” said Crank.

 

Dean awoke.

It was cold as a witch’s tit.

His hunter instincts kicked in, and he scanned around, assessing the environment. Tin shack, looked pre-fab. He was sitting in a metal folding chair directly across from some woman he didn’t recognize. Arrayed alongside her were some other figures that his eyes weren’t focusing on.

“She is dying of breast cancer,” said the woman. And somehow he knew – just knew – that she wasn’t a woman at all.

“All right,” came a familiar low voice. Dean turned to his side. Cas was sitting next to Dean, talking to the woman. He’d looked better, but he was alive at least. Sam was over on Cas’s other side, and appeared groggy, but he was breathing.

Dean felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. A penguin had waddled up across the table and stood there, sussing him out.

“You got a problem, shorty?” Dean managed to croak out.

“Intriguing,” came a voice in his head.

Dean lurched back, the chair scraping across the floor. He felt Cas gripping his arm. “Dean. We are having a discussion.” Dean looked back at Cas. The angel was fucking terrified – as scared as Dean had ever seen him.

“Uh, yeah. With a penguin,” said Dean, as the aforesaid bird went waddling along the table to have a peek at Sam. 

“These are the Seven Stars, Dean,” said Cas. His hand was still on Dean’s arm, his knuckles gone white. Dean reached over and patted the angel’s hand, and then cast a bleary eye across the table again. 

Behind the woman were a couple of big, blobby creatures – Dean thought the little blobby one was a seal, and maybe the bigger, blobbier one was a sea lion – and a couple more penguins. “Barachiel has been explained that weren’t a lot of vessels available in this location,” said Cas, nodding towards the grey-haired woman.

The seal attempted to slide up into a chair. _“Should we kill them?”_ it said inside Dean’s head.

_“Fuck off, Samyaza,”_ barked the sea lion.

The seal – Samyaza – blobbed off the chair.

“Wait, what’s that penguin doing?” asked Dean. Cas still gripped his arm. 

The table penguin held a flipper out Sam’s way. There was a glow, and Sam suddenly sat up. “She is Armaros, Dean,” Cas whispered. “She is healing him.”

“Sammy?”

Sam blinked. He rubbed his stomach. “I- I’m OK, Dean.” He scanned around the room, looking at the woman and the various creatures. “Uh, mind catching me up here?”

“Angels. Vessel shortage.”

Sam blinked. “Okaaaaay.”

The penguin now perambulated in front of Cas, and was giving him the once over. Dean didn’t hear anything this time, but Cas told it, “It’s- It’s my grace.” This appeared to agitate the penguin, which marched back over to Barachiel and let forth, only in penguin this time. Which Dean supposed she spoke? Being an angel and all.

“What has happened to you, brother Castiel?” demanded Barachiel.

“I lost my grace. For a time. It was used in a spell. And then it was used in _another_ spell. It might be … changed.” Cas leaned back and choked, and quite suddenly, a blue light came pouring from his mouth. Dean grabbed him. “What's she doing?”

Barachiel held a glowing blueish ball above her hand while the penguin chattered. “Your grace, Castiel. I have never seen its like.” She poked at it and it flickered, while Cas moaned.

“Hey, don't poke it!” scolded Dean.

“Dean,” Cas whispered.

“You are made of flame and fire, little one,” said Bararchiel, as the grace swirled. “How has it not burnt you out?”

“Give his grace back, dammit,” Dean growled.

“Dean!” Cas whispered.

But Dean would not be dissuaded. He stood up and pounded a fist on the table. “You heard me, lady! I'm tired of your angel bullshit. I don't know if you've heard of me, but you will. I'm Dean Winchester. That's my brother Sammy.” He leaned forward suddenly, a stalking tiger, and Barachiel drew back.

The penguin slipped and fell on its penguin ass. 

“And believe me,” Dean Winchester rumbled, “you do _not_ wanna make us mad!”

Barachiel huffed in impatience while the penguin righted itself. She flicked a finger at the grace. The glow increased, as the light roiled. And then she leaned across the table. 

It was a strange, woozy feeling, like she was bending gravity as she moved. Dean gasped, and then Cas suddenly dropped his grip. “Cover your eyes!” he hissed at Sam and Dean. Barachiel reached out her hand. It was like an entire galaxy moving. And then a bright light, brighter than all the lights ever, from the beginning of time: suns exploded. 

Dean was now lying on the ground, but he sprang up to grab his friend. “Cas!” Sam took a second longer to recover, but rose and hovered close as well.

Cas shook his head, like shaking off a fever. And then he was staring, clear-eyed, at Dean. “I am all right Dean. Please! I am all right.”

Dean hugged him and leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “OK. Good. Good deal.”

“Why do you repair them? Kill them!” urged Samyaza the seal, in a voice that echoed through Dean's head.

“Patience, Samyaza,” said Barachiel. “We are intrigued by you, Castiel. You seem too attached to these humans. Particularly that one.” She pointed to Dean.

“Always knew he liked you better,” Sam said with a grin frozen on his face.

“You know these relationships are forbidden, Castiel.”

“Who forbade them, and why?” Castiel asked her. “I love Dean Winchester. Sam Winchester is my friend and brother.”

“See? You still rate,” Dean whispered to Sam.

“We're so dead, aren't we?”

“Probably.”

_“Uh, hello?”_

Everyone turned to see Gabriel, accompanied by the goth girl, Wendy. She was peering around the room, taking in the penguins and sea lions and whatnot. “These are angels, aren't they?” she asked Gabriel.

“Hey! She's a quick study!” said Gabriel.

The seal – Samyaza – waddled over to her, and they stared at one another for a good long time.

“Uh, hi dad?” she said, holding up a hand.

“OK, does anybody else think this is all a little weird?” whispered Dean.

“Isn't this heart-warming?” asked Gabriel, one hand on Wendy's shoulder, the other on the seal. “Hey, who thinks we should leave daddy and daughter to get acquainted? It's been a couple of millennia!” Gabriel raised a hand and was about to snap his fingers.

“Gabriel!” snapped Barachiel, and several of the seals barked. “Sit down, little brother.”

“Dammit.” Gabriel found himself now sitting in a chair, with his hands tied to the arms. 

“Explain to us what has happened?” asked Barachiel. “We have been under the care of Our Father all the centuries. Why has he abandoned us?”

Dean could actually see Gabe's mind racing. “Look, Metatron was tattling to Daddy about Samyaza and Esther.”

“Samyaza, we told you that was a bad idea,” scolded Barachiel. Several of the penguins looked annoyed. Samyaza the seal whined.

_”What became of Metatron?”_ came another voice.

“Uhhh, Godzilla ate him,” said Gabriel.

“What?” asked Dean. “And I wasn't there?”

“Explain later,” whispered Gabriel as the penguins chattered. He turned back to Barachiel. “Anyways, you guys remember how Dad gets when he's in one of his moods? We had to lay low for a while. Raz passed me the girl, Esther. I couldn’t save her – she was human – but I did save her daughter. I put her on ice for a few centuries. But for some reason lately it’s been hard, and what with all the disruption in Heaven and Hell, she busted out, and I couldn’t keep track of her.”

“Hey, buddy,” said Wendy. She tossed a whale bone, and Samyaza cheerily flopped across the floor to fetch it. He brought it back, and she scratched his nose and hugged him.

“See?” said Gabriel, who was chewing at the knots in the rope around his wrists. “Charming daddy/daughter reunion. Now, I got places to be.”

“Gabriel,” chided Barachiel, and suddenly the ropes holding him turned into handcuffs.

“Dammit, tell 'em, Raz!” Gabe pleaded. “Raz?”

There was the telltale whisper of flapping wings, and Raziel stood in the center of the room, holding a bundle of jackets over one arm. “I'm so sorry, I had to stop along the way for supplies.”

“This is not time for fashion, Raz!” said Gabe.

“It's always time for fashion, dear! I felt bad for you, up here with nothing cute to wear, here you go,” she said, bundling a coat around Barachiel. “Oh, aren't you just darling?”

“Sister Raziel, what are you doing here?” asked a slightly befuddled Barachiel.

Unruffled, Raziel continued distributing coats to Sam and Dean. “Well, I was just chatting with Daddy-“

“You were always his favorite,” Gabriel muttered.

“-and told him all about the teensy misunderstanding with Metatron.” Several of the angel creatures growled at the mention of that name. “Anyway,” Raziel hurried along, “he’s _awfully_ sorry for what happened, and thought you might all like a nice vacation up at the Pleiades!

“The Pleiades?” asked Barachiel.

“Yes, I know, it’s such a lovely spot – we had our honeymoon up there. But you do have to quit melting the Arctic, I guess it’s causing a bit of a fuss.”

The angel creatures began barking and muttering. Raziel snapped her fingers, and Gabriel’s handcuffs disappeared. “We can discuss it, of course, but my little brother will _get all these people out of your way_ , in the meantime.” Raziel arched an eyebrow, and Gabe leapt out of his seat, nodding.

“Gabe,” whispered Dean.

The earth moved.

Dean grabbed the door handle as the convertible tore around the narrow switchback. They were driving on a narrow road carved into a cliff above the see. He tore his eyes off the steep drop immediately to his right and glanced over at the driver. Wrapped in an Hermes scarf and oversized sunglasses, her nails blood red, the archangel Raziel gripped the steering wheel and shifted down. “Whee!” she said. “Nothing like these old roadsters!”

“Raz? What the hell?”

“There’s someone who wants to talk to you, Dean. So I thought I’d grab you now that the Stars were through with you.”

“So they’re gonna take off?”

“Hmm, for now. Well, except perhaps Samyaza, he wants to get to know his daughter.”

“What’s up with the car? I thought you angel dudes … and angel chicks I guess … did the wing thing?”

“Well, we are flying. In a sense. I’m actually a wavelength of celestial intent – you do understand that concept, don’t you?”

The car went flying into another turn. “Uh, kinda?”

“Cool. Maybe you could explain it to me sometime, because I’ve never had the head for it. Anyway, I pulled this scenario out of your imagination and memories.”

“Oh.” Dean tried to think. When had he been driving in a convertible with a hot chick? Seemed like something he would remember. “Oh! Like that Grace Kelly movie?”

“Seriously? You associate me with Grace Kelly?” Raziel set her sunglasses atop her head, her dark eyes wide. 

“Uh, eyes on the road, Raz.”

“That is amazing! That’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten. Oh, I must tell Kate Middleton. Maybe I’ll buzz over there on my way back home. Thank you Dean!”

She blew him a kiss.

And disappeared.

“FUCK!” opined Dean, who was now in a driverless car racing along the side of a cliff. He was diving for the steering wheel when suddenly everything changed up once again. 

He was now inside a town car. Sid was in the back seat grabbing his shoulder.

The Naz was driving.

“No worries, my most excellent brother,” said Sid. “My man, the Naz, just wanted some dialog.”

Dean caught his breath. “Uh, yeah. Hey, Sid. Uh, Naz.”

“Dean Winchester,” said the Naz, who kept his eyes on the road. They were no longer driving along a cliff, but now were speeding through what looked like Monument Valley, a red desert full of strange rock formations. “It is my understanding that you and my honored brother, the Seraph Castiel, are involved in what is colloquially termed, _a thing.”_

Well, this was not awkward at all. Dean sat back and wished he were back on the cliff, about to crash. He glanced out the door at an ancient red rock formation. “Yeah. We’re a thing. I guess that’s blasphemy, or whatever?”

Sid and the Naz exchanged a glance. “No.”

“Wait, no? You guys have changed your minds up there?”

“My excellent brother,” said Sid, “never was, never shall be.”

“But we would like to inculcate,” said the Naz, “how important and special this relationship is. As you have seen, such a love has the power to save the world.”

Dean stared out the window at the red sunset. “I guess.”

“You are special, Dean Winchester.”

“Not really. I’m just me, you know. Now, can I get back to where I’m going? Not that I don’t like you guys and all….”

“Aw, that’s swell, Deano!” said Gabriel, who was now driving the car. Unlike the Naz, he was dressed up in a chauffeur’s uniform. “So, where to?”

Dean grumbled, and then felt someone new gripping his shoulder. “Are you all right, Dean?”

“Cas!” The angel was now in the back seat, in his winged form, and looking mighty confused. “Hold on a minute.” And then Dean was awkwardly lifting himself over the bench seat and into the back of the limo. He ended up sprawled in Cas’s lap, which was actually a rather splendid place to find himself. “Hey, Cas.”

“Dean.”

“Deano! You didn’t say where we’re headed,” laughed Gabriel. 

“Anywhere at least an hour’s drive away,” said Dean, fiddling with the buttons on the console. He hit one and a barrier started to rise between the back seat and the driver. “Make it two hours!” he yelled just before it cut off Gabriel. “And turn up the stereo!”

Gabriel grinned and grabbed a Gordon Lightfoot CD. _“Sundown, you better take care…”_ he hummed.

 

The Arctic – or actually the Antarctic (there are two, you know). A girl dressed in a black overcoat threw a stick, and a seal galloped down the beach and then slid into the water to fetch it.

“I think this will do nicely,” said Raziel, as she finished tucking Linda Tran into a rather stylish all weather parka. “How does it feel?”

“I’m actually pretty warm,” said Linda, who sounded surprised. 

“When you’re in town, please stop by, and we’ll have your colors done!” said Raziel, who, with a whisper of wings, was gone.

“Uh, where exactly is ‘in town’ for her?” Linda asked. 

“You could have gone with her, you know, Mom,” Kevin told Linda. He had been watching the girl play with the seal.

“I want to spend some time here. With you. And, uh, the future in-laws,” she added, nodding towards Wednesday and her seal. “Look are you sure about this Kevin? You know she’s half angel.”

Kevin grinned. “It’s weird. But I’m weird. And she’s cool with me. I just wanna take it slow, you know?” A small group of curious penguins had waddled up to them. “Hey, little dudes!” said Kevin. To his mother, he said, “But you sure it’s not gonna get lonely for you here?”

“I didn’t want a squad, Kevin. I wanted to be near my son. That’s all.” Linda approached Kevin and then, with extreme awkwardness, threw her arms around him.

“I see why we’re not a hugging family!” Kevin laughed.

“You’re supposed to hug back!” Linda scolded.

Still laughing, Kevin embraced his mother. Wednesday came over as well, the seal – carrying a too-large stick in its mouth – waddling after her. Linda practiced another hug on Wednesday, much to Kevin’s delight.

 

Oh a mountaintop, an immortal being relaxed on his couch, his son sitting in his lap, hunched over a drawing pad.

Another immortal being – in the semblance of a tall, handsome Indian man – leaned over him and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “Good news!” Ganesh announced.

“You mean we avoided the apocalypse?” asked Sariel.

“That,” said Ganesh, dropping onto the couch next to Sariel, “and Lady Raziel has gotten me a pass for the Galliano show!”

Sariel's silver eyes slid over to regard his husband.

“You don't mind, do you, dear? I know you were busy...”

“Take Boon!” said Sariel, indicating his son, who looked up briefly at the mention of his own name, and then went immediately back to his drawing pad. “Teach him how to draw people wearing some fucking _clothes!”_

Ganesh leaned over to look at the entwined figures of a man and an angel that his little son, Boonie, was now sketching. He threw his head back and roared with laughter.

 

“How was your day?” asked Jody.

“A hell of a day, thank you for asking,” said the demon who had just appeared in her living room. “I do believe we have gotten a few kinks out of the afterlife. Bit of a mess.” He paused. “And you?”

“I think I’m gonna have to cancel,” said Jody, stretching out on her easy chair, her stockinged feet propped up on an ottoman.

“That’s disappointing. I had a cosy little place in Paris all picked out to dine.”

“Yeah, well, I just spent the day cleaning out a nest of vamps. I’m in no shape to go out. Maybe next week?”

Crowley snapped his fingers. The lights lowered, and soft music began to play.

Jody sat up and looked around. “What’s going on?”

“If the lady will not go to Paris, we shall bring Paris to her,” said Crowley. A couple of busboys breezed in from somewhere and placed a table by Jody’s armchair. And then a waiter emerged from the darkness and placed down two glasses. 

Jody stared. “Uh, how did these guys get in my living room?”

“I wouldn’t worry,” said Crowley, who now had a bottle of red wine he was decanting into the glasses. 

“I _do_ worry,” said Jody, sitting up cross-legged in the chair and grabbing a glass. Another waiter scurried out and handed over a menu. She raised an eyebrow. “Uh, but I dunno if I'm in the mood for something so fancy.”

Crowley was now holding a pink box.

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Jody.

“Sheriff Hanscum said you preferred the maple bars.” Jody was holding one up. “You may have an entire bar.”

“You talked to Donna?” asked Jody, taking a bite of the maple bar. “Oh, is this bacon sprinkles?”

“Yes, and she emphasized that everything I have ever done in my life up until now has been wrong.”

Jody chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “I guess in some ways it's not so bad, dating the King of Hell.”

“Are we _dating_ now?”

Jody's mouth eased into a grin. She toed the ottoman over towards Crowley, and, smiling, he took a seat. “What kinda wine goes with maple bars?”

“I am thinking perhaps a good Scotch?”

Jody noticed the liquid in her glass had turned a rich, smoky amber. “A man after my own heart.”

 

“Yep, there’s still doors poppin’ up in Heaven, but we’re managing to plug ‘em as we see 'em. Got a whole crew on it. A lot more enjoyable than whilin’ away the day in your room.”

Sam sat back in his chair in the bunker's map room and grinned across the table at the ghost of Bobby Singer. “That’s great to hear, Bobby. Do you need anything?”

Bobby’s ghost smiled. “Well, a little more whiskey would hit the spot.”

“We could put in a good word for you.”

“You wanna go talkin’ with angel mucky-mucks, why’n’t you explain to them why we presently got vampires up here in Paradise?” He pointed to where Benny’s spirit was sitting, his hand intertwined with Lenore’s spirit. The two looked at one another and gave silly little smiles. 

“All of us deserve a little paradise,” mused Benny.

 

A pair of goddesses were watching Sam speak to the ghosts while they packed up in preparation to leave. “You look … wistful, Icey,” said Nephthys.

Isis pushed back her floppy hat. “Yes. These last few weeks … I don’t know, I’ve felt more alive than I have for the past century or so!”

“I know what you mean.”

“And, well, I can’ t help but think about Sam.”

“He’s so awfully cute, isn’t he?”

“Yes. And it seems everyone else has ended up with something. Or someone.”

The goddess of death tutted. “Not everyone is best off in a relationship, you know Icey.”

“I know but….”

Nephthys put her hands on her hips. “Now, you’re not matchmaking again, are you?”

“Lady Bast,” said Isis. Both goddesses turned to gaze at Sam once again.

“She’s tall!” said Nephthys.

“Yes she is rather.”

“And the cats like him.”

“They do!”

By this time, Sam had finished his conversation with the recently departed. He came into the corridor to stand beside the goddesses. “How are you ladies doing?” he asked.

“We have a friend,” said Isis.

“A friend … in need!” said her sister.

Sam frowned and looked between them. Finally he said, “Can I help?”

Isis and Nephthys grinned at one another. And then the three of them were no longer standing there. 

 

Cas perched atop the town car, cross-legged, his face turned to the sun, large dark wings halfway unfolded, catching the wind.

Dean leaned against the fender, gazing up at the angel. “Feels good?” he asked.

Cas's eyes stuttered open, his features drifted into a contented cat-smile. “Nothing feels quite like wind in your wings.”

“I'll have to take your word for that.” The town car was now parked atop a mountain. The breeze was sharp and cool.

“Sit!” said Gabriel. “Aw, c'mon, _sit!”_

Dean tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow, watching the archangel ineffectively entreat the ancient beast. 

“C'mon, Zilly! Sit!”

Godzilla continued sniffing contentedly at the clusters of small, fragrant flowers on the blackberry bush, and then was apparently distracted by a butterfly.

“I think you gotta be smarter than the animal,” Dean teased.

Gabriel huffed. “Zilly! Heel!”

The creature's eyes at last drifted over towards the archangel. It poked his head in his direction and then, with utmost care, plucked him up by the scruff of his neck in its mighty jaws. “Hey! Watch the merchandise!” Gabe shouted, as Godzilla at last deposited him on its own scaly belly. “Aw, another tummy scratch? All right, all right.” Gabriel scratched, and Godzilla jerked a hindquarter and sighed a kaiju sigh.

“Gabe, what are you gonna do with him, even if you do get him trained?” asked Dean.

“Big plans, Deano! Those guys, Cranky and Knobbers, or whatever they're called, want him to star in their new video game!”

Dean shook his head and turned back to Cas. “You're brother is an idiot.” His phone rang, and he picked it up. “I have reception up here? Hey, Sammy! What? You're going out with a … cat goddess? Well, that's- Hey, I can't hear you, the music's too loud. I said, the music's- Whoa, hung up.” His text messaging beeped, and he scrolled through. “Jody wants to know if it's OK to date the King of Hell. And Kevin wants to know if it's OK if his father-in-law has flippers. And Benny wants to know when Gabe is gonna be back with the stupid monster. Since when am _I_ Miss Freaking Manners?”

Cas slid down from the top of the car to the hood, sidling up next to Dean, wrapping a wing around. “Dean, I am concerned.”

“What's the matter? You worried for Sammy? 

“No.” Cas's eyes were wide and blue. “Have we concluded our act of sexual relations yet?”

Dean's face broke into a wide grin. “That is a very good question!” And so, while Godzilla sighed in a deep, prehistoric rumble, Dean traced a finger down Cas's cheek, his eyes catching the light.


End file.
